


The Cosmic Deck

by SullustanGin



Series: Corellian Whiskey and Sullustan Gin [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Ambiguous Relationships, Blood, Espionage, Eva actually doing her job, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, Foreplay, Gambling, Hidden Talents, Introspection, Kissing, Little Black Dress, Marcus Trant is a meddler, Mild Sexual Content, Murder, Pre-Star Wars: The Old Republic - Shadow of Revan, Slow Burn, Smuggling, Some Humor, Star Wars: The Old Republic - Forged Alliances, Theron actually doing his job, Trope Subversion/Inversion, Trust Issues, Undercover, Undercover as Married, Unresolved Sexual Tension, hidden weapons, pazaak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26177863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SullustanGin/pseuds/SullustanGin
Summary: Smuggler Eva Corolastor makes a drop of smuggled goods before attending a weekend pazaak tournament.Rogue SIS Agent Theron Shan guards his identity as he attempts to sever one of the financial resources of the Order of Revan.Their paths collide as Marcus Trant manipulates their circumstances to suit his agenda.  During a high stakes card game at a glamorous casino, the pair eliminate targets, evade assassins, and struggle with the line between the truth and all the lies they have to decorate themselves with.
Relationships: Theron Shan/Female Smuggler, Theron Shan/Smuggler
Series: Corellian Whiskey and Sullustan Gin [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642009
Comments: 16
Kudos: 18





	1. Losing the Weekend

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW chapter marked

Katalla was a significant upgrade over Nar Shaddaa – it actually still had natural life. Its skies weren’t brown, and the night was not constant. It was, however, a Hutt planet, and Eva never took joy in visiting. 

Business was business. There was also a card tournament with her name on it, as well as an unexpected request for a private table. These types of games were for show: fans paid to play against their favorite player with complete expectation of losing the game, though getting the experience of winning one or two hands. “EC” had never had such a request before. Eva played in unremarkable clothing compared to some of the costumes and headdresses worn by less skilled but more popular players. She was in it for the credits, not the ego or the fame. 

This particular private table was special. Eva carefully packed two custom-made pazaak decks into her purse: one for the big game, and one newly made for the private table. She didn’t intend on keeping that one. Tiny metal fibers woven into that new deck carried vital information, and that was going to the highest bidder, who proclaimed himself also to be a fan. Eva didn’t care. It was all credits for her.

That done, Eva consulted her chrono. Buyers for her main business deal were due here in fifteen minutes, and the Port Authority was going to want to see the goods before the hand off. Eva hoped her usual flim flam would convince them not to look too closely at the luxury cloth that was being sold for an exorbitant price, one far more appropriate for a rather massive load of chak root. Chak root’s taxes had been set through the roof by all three major governments, one of the downsides of Eva’s little foray into the Imp stock market. She was clever enough to fox her way around it, however. 

As Eva walked down the gangplank, she scanned the bland, grey spaceport. For a Hutt planet, this one was surprisingly boring-looking, so far. She shrugged herself a bit further into her brown jacket as she waited, still as a stone, next to her off-loaded goods. Fidgeting got smugglers shot more often than not. Eva hated to wait exposed like this, even with her beskar vest on. Finally, one of the port workers made a call up to the office, and a representative from the Authority was down to check on her goods.

After the typical pleasantries and interrogation began, the agent began to poke around the shipment crates themselves. As he came across one particular crate, Eva said, “Hey, you might want to wait a second on that. I have some security on that and I need to –” Eva reached to touch her wrist comm.

The guy jerked his blaster on her, and up her hands went. “Hey now.”

Eva watched the guy with flat eyes as he threatened her, taking the safety off his blaster. “You want to get a friend down here then? Can’t shoot me and check my goods at the same time.” 

Without taking his eyes off her, the Port Authority officer requested back-up. Another three guys came trotting down the steps.

Mr. Trigger-Happy signaled to his subordinates to keep their eyes on her as he inspected the crate she tried to warn him about. “I’m telling you, I have a new security device on that and I need to disable it.” Eva kept her hands over her head, all the same, as nobody seemed to be listening to her.

Mr. Trigger-Happy began to dig deep into the box of cloth. He was courteous enough to pile the emptied contents onto other crates as he went. About halfway down, he got a jolt that shot him a good four feet away, sending him sprawling and dazed.

There was a good three seconds of silence before Eva deadpanned, “I told you so. Czerka Theftmax 3200 – gives up half the goods in exchange for a nasty shock. Would you like me to disable it so you can go through all of the crates?” 

Another few seconds passed before, finally, a voice upstairs boomed over the loud speaker. “You can put your hands down, ma’am. You said a Theftmax 3200?”

Eva looked up toward the faceless hangar ceiling god and nodded.

“Apparently, someone hasn’t done the new training procedures. Our apologies, ma’am. You’re good to go.”

Eva kept up her pazaak face as she internally smirked with malevolent glee. Port Authority guys _never_ did the training until busted. And this one was extra special.

Eva had scheduled her ship for inspection while this mark was on duty. He had something she wanted, whether he knew it or not. “No hard feelings. Let me help you up.” Eva covertly pressed a few buttons on her wrist comm as she helped the Port Authority agent up, even swooping down to collect his hat and hand it back to him. He blustered, embarrassed, as he and his men took his leave of her. 

Eva, in return, had taken a digitally forged a copy of his invitation to the hard currency pazaak tournament on Katalla. She was slightly miffed she wasn’t on the guest list originally, but then again, she had ducked out of the tourney on Carrick unexpectedly a few months back. Some organizers became cagey about that, but if the big event showed up, they weren’t going to cry about a good game – good games meant good publicity. 

Eva raised her chin as the Bothan she was looking for showed up, more than enthusiastic that everything he paid for was intact. He kindly helped her refold fabric that had been pulled out of the crate. He was soon on his merry way, tipping her extra for punctuality and entertaining dispatch of the Port Authority.

Eva aimed to please. All part of good business. 

**

Eva was attentive to the cityscape as she sat in the taxi speeder that took her from the spaceport to the casino hotel on Katalla. She had her overnight go-bag and her purse with her, along with some cleverly obscured weapons, but nothing that would flag her at a security checkpoint. It had been awhile since she’d been without the crew on a planet. She normally got a few days like this once every six months or so, and she spent them on _Virtue’s Thief_. This was a nice change. Little business, little pleasure. 

Upon arrival, Eva flashed her datapad at the door, displaying her invitation to the tournament. The bellhop – a sentient rather than a droid, classy joint this was – quickly groveled and took her luggage to be held for check-in once the hotel had a better idea of how many people were actually showing up for the invitational. 

Eva carefully paused before a mirrored wall to ensure that her hair was as it should be. Tonight, she was trying out a new hairpiece. Her hair was now half-up and half-down, with a small metallic pazaak hand from her person deck decorating the back of her head. It did look pretty.

What most didn’t know was that each one of the four cards was a throwing knife. Eva came armed. 

Once she finished preening, Eva headed toward the bar to order, but apparently, someone had beaten her there. “Man over there said there was a lady coming to play a game with him. Bought you a drink – Sullustan gin and tonic,” the barkeep said, sliding the glass down the bar toward her with ease. 

Eva wrapped her hands around the beverage and the barkeep pointed out the man in question. Tall, balding but distinguished, sepia-toned skinned, very well-manicured and well-dressed. As Eva looked him over, the man in question realized she was there and met her halfway between the tables and the bar. 

“Glad you made it. I seem to have forgotten my pazaak deck – nerves, I suppose,” he apologized, with just the right amount of bashfulness. “I am going to be playing one of the best in the galaxy, Ms. EC.”

That was how she typically signed in at the gaming tables. “EC was here” was often the only thing she said when someone wanted a quote from the victor of the night. Eva Corolastor could be one of a trillion names that fit those initials. She appreciated his discretion, by only using the gambling alias. 

“I’m sure the house will have a deck on hand,” Eva replied, taking a quick sip. “Thank you for drink. How was your journey out here?” 

The man was eager to speak. “Just fine. I don’t travel as much as I used to, so it’s always a thrill to get out of the Core Worlds. This is a really nice hotel, from what I’ve seen. Have you been out here before?”

Eva retained her polite but disinterested demeanor, once she kept at hand for all business interactions. “Katalla’s a ways out from the main circuit, but I’m always eager to pick up new territory.” 

“You must have seen so much of the galaxy already, given your career,” the man gushed.

Eva decided to take that with a good measure of caution. “All the major gambling houses, no doubt. Had to start from somewhere, so Ord Mantell, even that upstart game on Dantooine. I hear there will be a casino on Voss before the year’s out, and anything goes there.” 

That had resulted in some ridiculously robust spice trading, which turned some hefty profits. But he didn’t need to know that.

The man waved a hand out toward the main floor. “I can already see our private table. It’ll be done in the next five minutes or so, but we can watch the end of play.”

Eva amiably nodded and followed her customer, eyes watching the casino world around her. She always made it a point to case the joint and meet in public spaces for this type of a drop. It was worth the credits, but credits were nothing if she was dead. 

Eva stopped in her tracks as she realized who was at the pazaak table. The dealer. Oh stars, the dealer. Keep moving. Keep moving. Sip the drink and don’t choke. The Voidhound leapt up inside her, and Eva let it take her: she needed to keep her cool, to go into that viciously efficient mode. Now she questioned even more her business associate, and her counterpart began calculations as to the treachery. 

No contact. They’d had an accidental run in back on Nar Shaddaa. She hadn’t seen his face. This was now a whole different bantha wrangle, even though he was in disguise. His hair was now a deep blond and slicked back, the dealer’s visor offering an artificial screen over this temples and eyes to obscure his implants. As she resumed her march toward the table, allowing the little black dress to do some of the confidence work for her, Eva noted that he had contacts in. His eyes were currently blue, even with the green tint of the visor. He’d grown a mustache and a goatee, which were slightly darker than the hair on his head. That was a most interesting development. He was busy with the current table he was handling, but Eva and her mark would be next for a private game. 

Focus on the mark. Don’t focus on him. He’s working.

When Eva eventually sat down, the only sign of recognition from the dealer toward her was a twitch of the jaw. When her companion sat down, he spoke _to him_ , and his voice was rough. “Been awhile since I seen you. Tables been kinder elsewhere?”

Eva pulled her deck out of her bag and watched the interaction, as the old man replied, chattering about the new casino on Nar Shaddaa that Guss had tested months ago. Oh gods. They knew each other. She _really_ hoped it was through SIS and not through oppositional spy games. 

Otherwise, she would be selling Imperial secrets back to the Empire in front of Republic SIS Agent Theron Shan. 

**

Theron had died and gone to hell. Right down, straight to the bottom, no purgatory, no last appeals. 

First, there was his own basic situation. He was a disavowed SIS agent at the edge of space, capture on sight. He was disguised as a card dealer because the operators of the casino on Katalla were suspected Revanites or at least laundering money on their behalf. Where the money was coming from, Theron hadn’t figured out yet. He did know this was a waypoint for the Revanite finances, however. The goal for him was to slice into the casino computers upstairs, extract the data, and eliminate those directly connected the Revanites so that they couldn’t re-establish their backchannels without some heavy recruiting. 

Then came all the complications. 

Eva Corolastor had walked into his casino wearing a dress that made him thankful to be sitting down at a table. She was dolled up like he’d never seen her before – hair, makeup, everything that must have been for special occasions only, since he’d never seen any of that while they were on the job. The dress was form-fitting and cut high on the leg, and _she_ was wearing it. The last factor was most important, as it reactivated thoughts that had only been permitted once before in the months they’d be parted. Nobody with a pulse would blame him for the dreams that came after their run-in on Nar Shaddaa. Now Eva-in-a-skintight-catsuit would have competition with Eva-in-a-little-black-dress.

Animalistic reaction aside, to be honest, Theron knew he was taking a risk when he decided this was going to be his cover. During a major tournament. During a major tournament at which EC had shown up before. 

Theron was still impulsive and a risk-taker. He’d set himself up to _see_ her. Just to see if she was ok, alive, working. He didn’t think he’d _see_ her at his table, which specialized in private games. EC had no history of private gaming in the past; she did the tournaments for the credits, not any personal glory. So his risk paid off, in a quasi-disastrous way: now he had to actively ignore her.

But that wasn’t the worst part. No, of course not.

At the same time as Theron was grappling with her presence, Director Marcus Trant of SIS had decided to play a game of pazaak with Eva, likely to transmit information. His (ex?) boss was an unexpected liability, not only for Theron’s cover but also his own safety. If anything happened to Trant, Theron was alone in the galaxy as far as the Republic went. Although Trant hadn’t helped to this point, he hadn’t hindered. Theron suspected that Trant had continued to keep an eye on him even after they parted ways at Carrick. He supposed that was a comforting thought, a positive safety net for once. 

Now, however, this was dangerous. Theron’s closest allies were now all clustered in one space. Lana and Jakarro had their own interests to serve; Trant and (to a lesser extent) Eva were ideologically aligned to him. 

A small, insistent voice in his head reminded Theron that they both cared about _him_ , personally. He had already had a taste of Eva getting spaced, when he thought she lost her arm.

The loss of Trant, the only consistent presence in Theron’s life since he was 16 – bad. Very bad. He had to acknowledge that this was the most dangerous possibility of all. Theron knew his own foibles and weaknesses. All three of them had to get out of there, as soon as possible. 

That led to a round of inquiry. What the hell was Trant doing here, deliberately putting them in the same place? He wasn’t the Director just because he did the paperwork and, in his words, ‘looked cute.’ Theron knew that Trant had purposefully engineered this, but to what end? 

As Theron reset the table for a new round of pazaak, Eva’s hand, holding her personal pazaak deck, entered his line of vision. “I think the gentleman will need to use the house deck; he’s forgotten his.” 

“Of course, miss,” he answered in the slight twang he’d adopted for this role. 

**

The small talk and attempts at flirtation coming out of Trant as they played cards were destroying Theron. Then again, it was an explanation as to how Trant was as well-traveled as he was around women. “So is there someone in your life outside the gaming tables right now?” Trant ventured as he tapped for another card, which Theron dutifully dealt. 14.

Eva sipped her drink before replying, a smile playing at her mouth. “There is no ‘outside the gaming tables.’ Everything is the game.” Eva held up her hand – she’d stand on 18.

“Well, then,” Trant drawled, fidgeting slightly as he waffled over whether to risk it or not. “I guess I should ask if you have any other games with any other men going. As you probably figured from the private table and your open tab for the night, I could take care of you better than most.” He tapped, and there was the necessary 6.

 _This is so wrong_. Trant had clearly indicated that he thought Theron had a thing for her back on Carrick, and now he was saying _things_ to Eva right in front of Theron. This was totally deliberate.

Eva knocked on the table, celebrating her rival’s win. “Well-played. And I don’t need to be taken care of – I’m independently wealthy. I play for fun.” 

“So are you playing anyone for fun right now, miss?” Trant’s voice came, all too hopeful. 

“When the weather is better, I think. Stormy skies at the moment, but once those clear up, I’ll certainly be tempted.” The words slid off her tongue easily. Eva had a lot of practice at table banter, of obscuring and revealing the truth. 

The pair had played through all five hands of a game, even after Eva had beaten Trant 3-1 by the fourth hand. Trant had apparently paid for two full games, and Eva was kind enough to give him all hands. One game down, another to go. 

Theron gathered the three decks and reached to reshuffle them using the table’s device. Eva cleared her throat. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like a manual shuffle on the personal deck. Had a bad experience a few years back that rendered my deck useless – tears, splits, scratches. Not acceptable.” Theron took the risk of looking at her directly now. That grin emerged. Theron knew it too well, and it always had that same effect on him. After listening to Trant, it was a palate cleanser. 

Now he got an opportunity to show off some of the stupid tricks he learned before realizing pro gamers preferred machines to sentient hands. 

Theron dropped into the rhythm as he fanned them once, then twice in the opposite direction before letting gravity drop them into his awaiting hand. Using that one hand, he split the deck into four, moving the individual sections as if they were on a geared machine, mixing them as each quarter pack slid halfway into its neighbor before being divided again. With the pop of a finger, a single card was shot up to spin on the opposing hand’s ring finger. He kept the card spinning and his other hand moving as a second card was shot up, and this one was spun on the pointer finger, its spin rate the same but the points of the cards never quite colliding. To finish, Theron let all four quarters cascade with the help of gravity onto the table, the last two cards gently flicked to land squarely on the finished deck. 

Theron appreciated the scattered applause, but the best was Eva’s gleeful laugh and the way she clasped her hands as she awaited the return of her deck. “Nice hands,” she complimented him. 

Theron was grateful for a green visor that hid any redness in his face. He simply nodded, a small self-satisfied smile on his face, and then set about mixing the cards properly by hand for a fair game. He casually looked over at Trant, after bracing himself.

Theron had always suspected Trant to be a romantic – one didn’t get married three times if they didn’t believe in finding true love at some point. Based upon his body language, which Theron had subtly observed over the last dozen or so years, Trant was deeply amused at Theron’s trepidation and….

Oh. Oh, no. 

The pieces clicked together in his head as Trant spoke. “I think your card handling skills are better than mine, son.” 

It was so petty and unprofessional and impetuous and meddling and not worthy of Republic tax dollars and – and- --

This was revenge for everything Theron had ever done to make Trant’s ulcers act up and cause him to go just a bit whiter and balder. 

_Trant was trying to get them together right now._

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the pit boss loomed over Eva. “You need to come upstairs. The management has some questions.”

Her unerring coolness was not disrupted. This was as much part of playing the game as the cards themselves. “I think the gentlemen at the table can assure you, I haven’t played for money today. That’s later tonight. This,” Eva gestured to Trant, “was simply a fan wishing to play against his tabletop heroine. Private sport, that’s all.”

Trant played the role of the fawning fan all too easily. “I have my reservation for two right here in my datapad. We’re not quite done here yet. Oh, I’m so sorry, miss.” The eagerness on Trant was ridiculous, but Theron had seen other men of a certain age act that way around attractive younger women. 

The boss was unmoved. “She needs to come up. Now. Grab your stuff.” 

There was a moment of still, and Theron only now realized that the Voidhound had been here the whole time, just as it had been when Ivory had been killed. Sure, there had been joking and drinks, but those were just tiny traps and follies that she lured her rival through before executing him.

Eva hadn’t been sure about Trant. She still might not be. Theron swore internally as he realized that Eva might be thinking that _Trant_ had set her up. 

Which was still entirely possible. 

Actually, it was likely.

_Kark._

Theron felt the crisis set in upon him. As Eva rose smoothly from her seat, she took her pazaak deck from the table and held it out to Trant. “I won’t be long. How about you take this as a souvenir?”

Trant stuttered, “T-thank you. Are you sure?” Trant moved around behind Theron toward Eva, hands open to receive the deck.

“Of course. I use a different one for professional games,” Eva explained the generosity away. “It wouldn’t be sporting to have the same deck for different levels of play.” 

_That was the drop_. Instinct told Theron that much. 

Trant’s eyes darted toward the pit boss. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Eva grabbed her purse and held it out to him. “Could you – well, after I get my ID and everything.” Trant continued his forward motion toward her and as Eva fished out her credentials and a reasonably-sized lady’s wallet. He hovered nearby for a moment, making sure their hands made contact as he took the purse and the pazaak deck from her. “Thanks.”

Eva stared up at the Trandoshian, eyes cold. As she turned to walk away, Theron heard her say, “Could you tip the dealer? He did some really fine work.” 

Theron watched her walk away. The view was still nice, with the legs and the heels, but now he worried. 

And now he had to deal with Trant and the games he was playing. “Say, sorry about your lady friend. You want to step outside for a smoke til she gets back?” Theron made a show of looking at the chrono. “I got my union 15.”

Trant nodded, still looking at the departing woman’s back. “I gave up smoking awhile ago. I miss the sociality, not the coughing.” Theron clocked out at his table, cleared up the remaining decks of cards, and led Trant out through the service hallway. He didn’t care to look back and check on Trant. 

With each step, Theron felt anger rising, and when they were finally in the designated smoking area, Theron reached under his visor to thumb an implant and disable the security features in the area. “How dare you lure her here?” flew out of his mouth.

Trant had a decent pazaak face when he wasn’t pretending to be a too-old-for-her fanboy. “I didn’t lure her here. She had a drop to make, and I took it at a place where reasonably, she would show up anyway as a professional pazaak player.”

Theron’s eyes narrowed. “What was so important that you crossed the galaxy to come here? Wouldn’t the Dealer’s Den be slightly more convenient?”

Trant shook his head once and leaned in. “Isotope-5 ship blueprints. In the cards. They’re…fresh. Very fresh. She sold them to the highest bidder, and I came for pick-up to save on delivery costs. It also would be more dangerous for her to hold them while trying to get to the Core Worlds,” Trant rasped. 

Theron still glared at Trant. There was more to this. Trant tried to stare him down, but Theron wasn’t giving in. Not tonight. 

Trant conceded and continued. “My man on the inside was looking for you to take up employment somewhere along the money line.” Revanites. “Took us a few weeks, but he eventually got a holo still of you – nice disguise, fooled me for awhile.” Trant pointed at the visor, which was an effective cloaking device for Theron’s implants, his most identifiable feature. “You need to get into the secured offices upstairs. I can help with that, speed up the process.”

Another piece clicked, and this one _did_ make Theron snarl. “You tipped them off as to her _other_ identity. The one _they_ are interested in.”

“No concrete evidence, just a well-placed observation that she looked an awful lot like her. They’ll question her. She’ll be a distraction.” Trant was watching Theron now. “This is your chance to get where you need to go.”

“I was working toward that. I didn’t need to rush it with what’s now a rescue mission and whatever other agenda you want to play at,” Theron snapped back at him. 

Trant had the audacity to scoff at Theron. “Time matters. You building trust here will take another few weeks. She can rescue her own damn self, and you know that. If you go after her now, she provides a more than adequate distraction and you can take care of your business.”

White started to cloud Theron’s vision as he began to descend into fury. “This is wholly unnecessary. These were three lines of business that never needed to cross.” 

Trant was unmoved by, though not unobservant of, Theron’s anger. “I saw an opportunity to consolidate. I thought you’d appreciate the assist and hurry this whole thing along. Sounds like you’ve got plans afterwards.” He’d picked up on her words.

Theron was nearly blind with rage, and a raw feeling struck him in the gut. “You endangered someone that didn’t have to be. I have always had a problem with that. Remember Ruan? Duro? She’s microscopic in comparison, but you still had to drag her in.” Then the words were out of Theron’s mouth before he could stop them, and frankly, he did not care. “Since I’m already disavowed, this is probably part of the reason you’ve been divorced twice. You can’t _not_ use people, constantly, to get what you want.” 

Trant smiled. 

Theron knew he had lost. He didn’t care.

“You can always _not_ rescue her. She’ll get out fine. Show me that I’m not your boss, that I don’t know what buttons to push.” Trant tilted his head and offered him her purse. “Or you can make sure your friend is fine and complete your self-assigned mission here in half the time it’ll take for you to gain their trust.” 

Theron only felt the anger dissipate slightly as he realized that Trant would have used anyone here. He could have used Gary from analytics, and Theron would have gone in after him. Trant could have used a stranger, and Theron wouldn’t have left them. 

Goddamn him. Goddamn _him_. 

That repeating refrain only grew more intense as Theron reached out and took hold of her purse, but Trant didn’t let it go. “I slipped her something that will give them a second thought before killing her off. A loose end they’d have to think about.”

Theron’s mind went back to the handoff. Then he cursed at Trant. 

The old man had won. 


	2. Spy Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron rescues Eva from the Revanites, but she's not exactly a complete damsel in distress. He reminds her (and the reader) that he is a very capable spy.

Eva was frogmarched through the back hallways of the casino. Her weekend off the _Thief_ was not going as planned. She’d had a nice drink and boring game of pazaak with the con artist, but now it looked like he’d done her dirty, somehow. Well, she’d been tighter scrapes. Theron knew who she was. 

Well, he did if Eva hadn’t just sold blueprints to an Imperial agent. That was a toss-up at the moment. If she’d done that, then Theron might not come looking for her. 

Well, he would, but he’d take his time. Eva liked all of her body parts as they were, however, so she wasn’t in the mood to be patient. 

Eva’s mind ran down her weapons arsenal that was currently on her. The Trandoshian had snatched up her credentials and had them. She had another copy back on the _Thief_ , so if she could finagle a way to take him out, she was free. Unfortunately, her hold-out blaster and her knife were in places she couldn’t reach conveniently at this second.

Finally, Eva arrived at her destination, one of the offices. The door slid open, and she was roughly shoved inside. Her credentials were thrown in after her. Eva didn’t move as the door swished closed. She stared at the room around her, trying to gauge where she was, what this was, why she was here, who had summoned her. 

The office was brightly lit and well-decorated. Warm reddish wood was everywhere, accented by gold and green carpets. Looked like Life Day in here, year round. Daylight streamed in through the long windows, the last vestiges before dusk. What a novelty, a Hutt planet that resembled something _normal_ in terms of natural features, rather than a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Eva determined she was high up in the casino, probably over most of the guest rooms. Maybe not the top floor. 

“Pick up your credentials.” A creaky, thin voice crawled into the room. 

Keeping her head up, Eva did the crouch-and-grab. She continued to look around the room, eyes open wide. Her breathing was even as she rose back up to her full height again. 

“Have a seat.” 

Eva’s eyes lit upon a stately sofa toward the back of the room, facing the large desk. Once she sat down, she wouldn’t be able to see the door. This was a less-than-ideal seat as a cardplayer. 

“Sit down.” The voice was more insistent. 

Keeping her eyes open and slowly moving with caution, Eva walked across the room. Her heels clicked against the floor, head constantly surveying the room. No obvious signs of deployable weaponry. Security cameras were concealed. Eva kept her back up straight as she lowered herself to the couch, legs gracefully together and canted off to the side. 

“Why are you here?”

Eva looked for the source of the disembodied voice, but she had no more luck than she had when she first scanned the room. “To play pazaak. Not sure what else your planet is known for.”

The thin voice laughed at her. It sounded like the grind of metal on a docking bay floor. Eva checked a flinch, not letting it escape her. 

“Listen, I played a game with a fan at a private table. Apparently, gamblers have fans, and those fans have a kink for losing in public to their favorite gambler. He set up the table, bought me a few drinks – you didn’t lose a credit when I beat him.” Eva gestured with her hands as she spoke. “So I’m not sure why I’m here and why you’re being creepy by not letting me see you.” Eva paused and then added on. “Frankly, I find it a bit rude. This doesn’t happen at the joints Morbo runs.”

The namedrop of a rival Hutt caused the laughter to stop. She’d struck something. Eva’s mind raced. As one of the bookcases that lined the wall perpendicular to the sofa began to move, she considered that the people who wanted to see her upstairs and the Hutt here had different interests, and the latter prickled at Morbo’s name.

A group of five men walked out, dressed in black. Eva would have thought they were imperial, if it were not for the small livery pins at their collars. Revanites. 

Aha. 

Eva had considered how intimately intertwined the Hutt Cartel was with the cult. This was another sign that there was some connection beyond just tolerance; Hutts handled their casinos in person unless otherwise disposed. The fact these men were confronting her told her that the Hutt was turning a blind eye to his business front for a reason, and these men had a mind to it – as if he’d given them their liberties as long as the business ran well. 

She wondered what they had on him. 

Eva calmly watched them file into the room. Three went to the back, toward the entrance, to guard the door. One stood just out of her peripheral vision, behind her and to her right. The thinnest man of the bunch stood before her. Yes, this was the leader. He exuded authority. Strong in mind, not in body. 

Keep pushing, keep him off balance. “Aren't you a little short for a Hutt?” Eva asked, as innocently as she could muster. 

Her captor leered at her. “Please don’t play at being the helpless damsel. We are well-aware of who you really are, EC.” 

As the artificial calm of the Voidhound rolled through her, Eva thought out her options, the proper reactions, and the exit strategies. Decision-making was like gambling – equal parts math and instinct. The objective here was to get out alive, but she needed to dissociate EC from VH.

“….and who do you think that is?” Eva queried. “You can check the registers of most of the gambling establishments in the galaxy, Hutt and non-Hutt. EC is there.”

The beady eyes held no humor. “EC indeed is the gambler, but she is also Eva Corolastor. Alias, the Voidhound.”

Remember the ring. 

Eva’s lips pulled back in semi-shocked laugh, as if the accusation was so outrageous the speaker could not be serious. “You…you are joking, right?” She tilted her head to look up at the man, as if waiting for him to let her in on the gag. “I mean, yeah, EC is my alias. It _was_ my name. It’s not anymore. But the Voidhound? That’s not me.”

The thin man wasn’t buying it. “Young lady, we are thoroughly aware of you. We have agents stationed in all three major governments.”

“But intel can be wrong. And I can prove I’m _not_ who you think I am.” Eva held out her wallet to him. “Go ahead. Open it. There’s a holostill in there.” 

He stared at her, wary with the beginning signs of infuriation bubbling.

“You’re not the first person to accuse me of this, so don’t feel bad.” As nonchalantly as she could, Eva procured her wallet, flipped it open to a holostill, and held it out to the man. 

Ever since Eva was shot, Risha and Eva had tightened up security on the Voidhound persona. Both of them personally carried a holostill of them with the Voidhound – obviously, one was herself and the other was in the guise. It would hopefully instill enough doubt and buy enough time for a rescue.

Eva talked fast as the man’s scowl deepened as he glared at the holostill. “So, yes, I’m a smuggler. But not that smuggler. Technically, she’s my boss,” Eva explained. “I’ll pass on a message if you want, but I have nothing to do with – well, whatever you want to talk to her about.” 

A blaster’s safety clicked off, and she founder herself staring at the business end as the man sat on the couch next to her. Behind her, she felt the cushions buckle slightly as the other man sat on her other side, no doubt armed himself. Possibly, he was positioned to keep her from running. Eva closed her wallet and drew it back to herself, exhaling as she went.

The thin man spoke, barrel unmoving. “I think I’ve had enough games. Where do I find the Voidhound?”

“Port Nowhere would be my guess,” she chattered nervously. “I mean, you start there. If you can find it – it’s mobile now.” Eva let her eyes go wild and dart toward the door; any reasonable person would be terrified at this point, but the fact he was still asking her questions was good. Very good. 

“And do you know where that is?” He let the blaster pass through her line of vision and back out again.

“Not at this very instant. It _moves_.” Tiny pieces of her ferocity began to claw back. If this guy didn’t watch it, he’d have a lothcat in a corner. 

The blaster’s barrel was back in her face again. “Tell me why I need you.”

Eva didn’t let her heart rate rise. “I can tell you where it is if you let me get to my ship,” she stated slowly, initially. “And I would be missed if you killed me. I’m married, and my husband is here.” Eva flashed the ring Trant gave her. 

The thin man blinked. Got him.

“I did say my name changed. I’m not EC anymore, it’s just something to keep the gambling away from the family life.”

“And where is this husband?” He narrowed his eyes at her when suddenly, a loud yell from the hallway caused him to turn his attention to the door.

“Where is my wife?!” 

As if on cue, Theron had arrived. She wondered how he was taking this development in their association. 

**

Goddamn him. Goddamn him. 

After getting what he needed from Trant, Theron had grabbed his bag from the staff lockers and headed directly for the offices that didn’t overlook the gaming floor – the ones that normal employees didn’t have access to, typically. He had to burn this fake identity, Virgil Trimble, now that he was moving to rescue Eva.

The doors had been easy enough to slice, and he was able to foul up the security systems; he’d studied them over the last few weeks, and it was child’s play. This part of the casino was eerily quiet and unpopulated. Nobody was here. Even the decorations were tasteful. Theron took the gamble that she was going to be taken to the one office he wanted to get into, the one he suspected had the database access to the Order of Revan and its finances. 

He drew close to the door and did another scan with his implants, still obscured by his dealer’s visor. He zeroed in on the area around the door. No, no additional camera. If they wanted to see him, they’d have to open up. 

He started with a yell. “Where is my wife?!” Then came the knocking. 

No response. Theron listened, waiting for any sign of life in the office. He could only hear a small shuffle. The office was likely soundproofed, to some extent. 

Guess he had to be louder.

Theron called out, “I’m looking for Mrs. Vaner! They said she was to come up here – look, I have her purse right here. Can I see her? There’s been a misunderstanding.”

When there was no immediate response, he kicked the door with the toe of his boot – not as hard as SIS Agent Theron Shan would, but as punctuation for Antony Vaner, retired swoop racer who had a bad knee. “Where is my wife!?”

Now the noises within the office were slightly louder, and he thought he heard voices. Swiftly, he pulled his blaster with a silencer on it, holding it behind his back in his right hand as his left continued to drum out an obnoxious pattern on the door. 

At last, one of the henchmen – who was even wearing a Revanite pin on his collar, the fool – made a mistake and opened the door jut a crack – just enough for Theron’s blaster barrel.

Theron shoved his blaster into the man’s gut and pulled the trigger. The silencer and the body muffled the noise, and Theron pulled the dead man out into the hallway. The shot didn’t go through him, so it looked as if the man had stepped outside to deal with Theron. 

As Theron gave the body a once over, Theron engaged him in conversation. “Hi, yes, I’m looking for my wife, Metis Vaner? She got called upstairs for some unknown reason – seriously, she was just playing a round or two of pazaak with a fan, and they act as if she used a fixed deck. I even spoke to the dealer, and he didn’t see anything of the sort. I just don’t like my wife disappearing, you know? It’s a Hutt casino, after all – I mean, no offense to your employer, but you know what they say…” About the same height, maybe a bit heavier than he was, same hair color he currently sported. Passable. 

After waiting a little longer, Theron knocked on the door. This time, it was three measured, hard knocks. He stooped slightly behind the body as he held it up to the door, and as the next guy in the room opened, Theron shoved the corpse hard, knocking the other man over and temporarily pinning him to the floor. As he emerged from behind the body, Theron swiftly reached for the other door guard’s head and chin and with a hard jerk snapped his neck. 

The man on the floor got his arm loose, and Theron lurched to avoid the blaster bolt sent his direction before returning fire. 

The man’s face was obliterated.

They had been startled and unprepared. New guys, Theron figured.

Two men rose suddenly from the back of the room, but as they did so a smaller form also stood up. As the men turned, she did not, instead reaching up into her hair. In a flash, Theron caught sight of two sharpened edges slashing at the necks of both men. Each edge caught the skin, and Theron saw it tear down toward the front of each man’s neck. With a sudden spurt of blood from each neck, the two men dropped to the ground, the rattles of death soon to come as they gasped for air through their slit throats. 

They wouldn’t suffer long. They’d lose too much blood and simply fall asleep. 

She stood with her back to him for a moment before she turned her head toward him, eyes flat, expression only conveying the smallest signals of anger at captivity. Theron stared at Eva in some awe at the fatal efficiency in such a devastating dress. To this point, it was the most he’d ever seen of her skin; he’d always seen her dressed for business in person, never the pleasures of the casino. 

His mind lingered on a word as she turned around to fully face him. He was relieved that she was safe, but any selfless thoughts on the topic were supplanted by visceral opinions about the sweetheart neckline and the skirt (Great Original Light, her legs). His low voice when he spoke to her betrayed this. “Well, you seem not to need any rescuing.”

The Voidhound’s frosty affect did not dissipate immediately. “I needed the distraction, thank you.” Eva stooped to wipe her blades on the dead men’s clothes. “I take it we’re married?”

Theron exhaled slowly as he crossed the office space toward her. “That’s the cover story I’ve been given. It’s not my first choice. I need to slice a console in here. I can talk and do that at the same time, because we do need to talk about _this_.”

Eva rose back up to her feet and carefully reslotted the blades in her hairpiece. That was clever. Eva turned around and pointed to the large desk behind her. “I think the big boss’s stuff is here.” She carefully picked her way over the still warm corpses and made her way to the desk, wiping her high heels on the excessively expensive carpet. 

Theron soon joined her by the desk, giving her a once-over. “You ok?” 

“Yeah,” she affirmed. “The blood is theirs, not mine.”

Abruptly, Theron’s curiosity got the better of him, and he put his hands on her shoulders to get a closer look at the deadly decoration. A hand of pazaak cards, each of which had a razor edge, was holding up half of her hair. Upon closer inspection, Theron could see the specially made grooves that guided the fingers, so that the wielder wouldn’t cut herself blind. “You normally wear this when you go gambling?”

“New toy which just paid for itself,” she responded. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t touch.”

The remaining ice in Eva’s voice caught him. Then he remembered: when the Dark Lady persona (his name for the Voidhound early in their association) was on, she was not friendly – it was all business. He removed his hands promptly. Theron withdrew from her and spun the chair at the desk so he could sit down to start his quick work on the main computer. 

His eyes flickered down to her legs. “Blood on the stockings. Lose ‘em. We need to make a run for the _honeymoon suite_ after this.” Theron sneered at the words even as they came out of his mouth. He was most certainly not pleased with this development. 

“Can’t.”

“Why?” 

“I need the tension in the suspenders for my holsters – holdout pistol and a knife,” Eva replied, matter-of-fact.

Theron blinked and found himself looking at the outline of the dress before blurting out, “You have an arsenal between your legs.”

“I believe a good offense can be a good defense,” Eva deadpanned.

“Your virtue is your shield – the virtue of preparedness.” Theron redirected his attention to the computer he was slicing, and his hands flew. “Keep an eye and ear out for the hallway – monitors to our upper left.” His implants reactivated them, now using them for his purposes rather than the Revanites’. 

**

“Sure.” Eva moved to perch on the desk, facing away from Theron and toward the security features and the door itself. She figured sparing him a face-to-face on this discussion would be a good thing, especially as she tried to shake the Voidhound. Normally, she detoxed in private, but that wasn’t going to be an option, especially if they were going to be playing at a romantic relationship.

Even through the sharp and angular defenses of the Voidhound, Eva was happy to see Theron. She was going to have to try to lure those feelings out without the benefit of a night to herself. The transition was going to be rough. 

Watching the screens in front of her, Eva asked, “What happened and how are we being manipulated by that con artist downstairs?”

Theron stifled a laugh. “You mean the Director of SIS, that con artist?”

Eva looked over her shoulder at him. “Takes one to know one. I knew that doddering idiot thing was an act.” 

Theron briefly mouthed the word ‘doddering’ and crooked a smile, but it disappeared quickly. “Trant got you on the hook for a drop, as you know. At the same time, he found me. He decided to help me by using you as a distraction – he got you called up here so I could get in here and pursue this.”

“And what’s this?” Eva gestured at the computer.

Theron answered as the light from the screen danced across his face. His eyes went out of focus as his optical implant dove into the mainframe. He couldn’t see her anymore. “Revanites are laundering money through here. We just tied up a bunch of loose ends, by the way, on that front.” 

Eva let out a brief “hmm” as she looked at the bodies. “Why’s he – oh. Never mind.” Eva realized that Trant probably did more than just “put in a good word” for Theron when he went on the run. 

“Exactly. And he apparently felt that I needed to hurry this along. Your involvement here was unnecessary for me. Sorry for getting you dragged in.” Theron’s voice was hard. “I would have been in here within the next week or two by myself, none of this required.”

Eva gazed around the office. “He slipped me a ring.” She held up her left hand.

Theron made a dismissive noise. “Same.” Eva looked back to see Theron’s ring finger decorated with a similar golden band. “We’re now lying low as registered guests at this hotel and the least likely suspects for what we just did in here. You’re also playing tonight under this new assumed name – he changed your tournament entry so that ‘EC’ is nowhere near here.” The numbers danced across Theron’s face in reflection as his brow creased.

“And my name?” Eva turned to face him fully, looking up one last time at the monitors. 

“We are Antony and Metis Vaner. We’re newlyweds who reside on Alderaan,” Theron answered quietly. “I’m a retired professional swoop racer. You’re a lady adventuress – rich girl who looked for cheap thrills at a swoop track. I apparently was the cheapest thrill there.” Theron gave her a pale smile, never looking at her. 

Theron ported the data out of the computer before rendering it dead. He had to close his eyes for a few seconds to bring his own vision back and dismiss the implant’s work. He rose to his feet to look at her, his expression serious. Eva maintained her position seated on the desk, legs politely crossed. “Listen,” he began, “I’ve avoided doing this sort of cover in the past. I’ve seen too many… abuses of assets.” 

Eva looked up at him. “Bad men in alleys?”

Theron’s face softened as he made eye contact with her, but his professional veneer went right back up. “Bad men in alleys,” he confirmed. “I’d rather get into a fist fight or pretend to be drunk to get information. Or, you know, actually spy on people without being seen. It keeps everything clean and feelings out of it.”

The Voidhound was far more willing to cut to the heart of an intimate matter with him than she was. “You’ve never slept with someone for SIS?” Eva readied herself for a potentially angry response. 

Theron shook his head, firmly. “Flirting, kissing, dancing – I can do that. They can be useful as distractions without too much physical or emotional investment. Beyond that –” He broke eye contact, his gaze fixed on the chair he’d just vacated. “-- I’m enough of a disaster in real relationships to know that on mission, I’d probably botch any seduction attempt or get confused, emotionally. This is dangerous for me. And I know it.” Theron drew in a breath. “I’m sorry that it’s going to be like this. Everything tonight – it’s not real. It’s for the job.” Theron looked miserable. 

“May I offer a silver lining?” Eva eyed him. She did like the facial hair on him. 

The olive-gold eyes blinked.

“Just because it’s not real doesn’t mean it won’t be fun.” She tossed her head and offered him the best devil-may-care grin she could muster. 

It likely came off as far more predatory than intended; the Voidhound was anything but light-hearted. Much to her dismay, Theron emotionally checked out of the conversation, his face going neutral and blank. “I don’t want to start things with you as a lie. Nothing happens until this op is over and I’m reinstated.

Eva’s smile faded. “Theron Shan and Eva Corolastor don’t have to start anything. Nothing that Antony and Metis Vaner do has to count between us.” 

Theron absorbed this, no sign of emotion. “We need to get moving.” 

Briskly, Theron turned and walked to the front of the office, thumbing his unseen implants under his visor. She scooted off the desk to follow him. He then pulled out a small device and rifled through the pockets of one of the guards he shot, the one that was face down atop another. Theron rolled him over. Finding the man’s identity credentials, Theron silently ran them through the machine, then replaced them on the body. Likely a swap of names to match chain codes -- they'd think this guy was whoever Theron had been the last few weeks. Theron then removed his green visor, revealing his implants and placed it on the dead man’s head. 

Eva felt herself relax as she saw his cybernetics; it was really him.

Theron arranged the body in a defensive position, hands up as if the man’s last moments were spent defending himself. Taking a few steps away and gesturing that she do the same, he dispassionately fired a blaster bolt directly into the corpse’s face, disfiguring it and partially melting the visor. He aimed carefully and shot the man’s hands as well. “Should buy us enough time. They’ll think that’s me long enough for us to get off planet tomorrow.” Theron holstered his blaster and opened the door, a short glance back at Eva to make sure she was following.

Sometimes Eva forgot that Theron was a spy who killed people _and was good at it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a method to Trant's madness in picking these aliases... any guesses? :)


	3. The Marrying Type

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you thought Eva was the one who had her act together, you are sadly mistaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild sexual implications in this chapter. Mild warning for past toxic relationship (if you've played a smuggler who got with Darmas Pollaran, this is not a spoiler).

Theron had a lead on Eva as he walked out the door, even as he stooped to grab a bag he’d left in the hallway. Eva had to trot in her heels to keep up with him. As they rushed down the hallway, she noticed that all of the holo cams around them had been disabled. Likely his handiwork again. “So get to an elevator and head up?”

“Yeah,” he answered, eyes forward. 

Eva could tell her words ate away at Theron. “I meant what I said as a tease, not as an affront to your morals.”

Theron shook his head and kept moving. “I get it. I just don’t like joking about it, between what other agents do and the fact that I want one thing in my life that isn’t consumed by spy games.”

“Something outside your order of one? That’s new.”

Theron’s face went to stone, but before he could respond, they heard noises from up the hallway. He hastily stepped to the side, looking to see what was ahead. Someone was going to pass them, and Eva suddenly remembered she looked like she had indeed murdered someone or was herself fatally injured. “I have to touch you and screen your leg, I’m sorry.”

Eva nodded and backed up against the wall, holding out the offending leg slightly. Theron crouched down to straddle it, hiding it from view from both directions. Then he lifted her other knee to drape her leg over his shoulder and dipped his head under the edge of her skirt, hands grasping her hips for stability.

Well, that was certainly one way to hide and repel others. 

As she felt Theron shoulder press the flat of her holdout blade into her thigh, Eva’s breath hitched. “Careful!”

“Trust me, I’m trying to be.” Theron’s voice was tight. “Umm. You’re going to have to make… noises.” Eva could tell he had absolutely no intent of touching her intimately.

Eva’s mind spun. There had to be a better way than putting him through this. “Think less racy, more trashy: act like you’re too drunk to unhook my suspender.” 

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Theron seemed to recover adequately, his head reappearing. His hands migrated to threaten the edge of the stocking at his shoulder. 

And then the jerk tickled her just behind her kneecap, unexpectedly. She almost called him by name, that monster. “Th—Antony! Stop that!” 

“Oh, come on, doll,” Theron slurred.

Her giggling ran up and down the hallway, and the people that were on approach nearly ran past them in response, scandalized whispers. Theron continued to run his fingers behind her knee for another minute – Eva even timed it. Then she looked up and down the hallway and stopped laughing. “Clear.”

Theron immediately ceased all contact with her and let out a groan of relief as he stood up. “I’m sorry.” His face was equally apologetic until his temper flared up at his absent boss. “I’m going to kill Trant.”

She was surprised by his lack of censorship but said nothing. He tugged her along so they could hastily make their way toward the honeymoon suite. 

**

As Theron stepped through the door, Eva locked it behind them. “Bug sweep?”

Theron nodded and ran one with his implants. There was a tense minute as the bug check finished. They were clear, and the sighs of relief were audible. Eva hit the security locks, and they were finally somewhat safe. They leaned against the walls of the entryway, trying to collect themselves. 

Eva looked him over. “Not sure about the dye job or the contacts, but the goatee is doing something for me.”

Theron stopped dead for a few moments, giving her a wide-eyed stare. She could see his brain working. “I need to burn this identity anyway. I’m going to take out the contacts. And remove the dye job.”

“But keep the—”

“Yeah, keep the – ” Theron gestured to his face, then he swallowed hard as he made haste to the refresher, pulling his bag to his front as he entered the room, shutting it behind him. 

The door popped open briefly and he held out a white robe for her. “We need to get rid of the stockings. Possibly the dress too.” Eva reached for the robe and looked to him. She’d certainly flustered him with the compliment, but he kept rolling along. “Trant is going to pose as kitchen staff. Once you’re ready, call for room service. He’ll be up here to dispose of the evidence, and provide further intel.” 

“Are you sure we need him?” Eva didn’t hide her dismay.

Theron gave her a wry half-grin. “I didn’t need anyone on this op, but now I have two co-conspirators.” A beat. “Kark, are you alone on this planet, or do I have to worry about the Wookiee having a paternal panic?” Theron looked positively fed up with the day, now that he’d thought of that prospect. 

Eva shook her head as she pulled the robe over her arm, folding it in half. “This was my first vacation day in six months without anyone bothering me. I typically take my breaks on my ship by myself. Serves me right for trying to get away.” Theron gave her a sympathetic quirk of the lips and then shut the door. Water started running immediately. 

Eva made quick work of her dress, and yes, sadly, it was ruined. Carefully, she sat at the end of the bed and unsnapped her thigh holsters from her suspenders. She carefully laid the knife and the holdout blaster on the nearest bedside table before unhooking the suspenders from the now ruined stockings. “Think we can put in a request for reimbursement? I actually liked that dress,” Eva called into the fresher as she removed her garter belt entirely for now and shrugged on the white robe.

“Yeah, I liked it, too,” came his voice through the door and from under a fresher nozzle on full blast. “Um. I’ll pay for it if they won’t.” Eva shot a startled look toward the door. He went silent, as if dying from embarrassment. 

Eva cleared her throat. “I’m calling for room service now. Any requests?”

The water shut off. “How petty are you?”

“After today? Very.”

“Same. Most expensive stuff on the menu.” The hair dryer went on as Theron went to work in taming his hair. Eva thought it had grown longer since she’d last seen him, and she smiled at his vicious streak (which may have also grown). 

Eva sent the electronic request to the kitchens below, and she was studying the HoloChannel guide when Theron finally emerged. His hair was no longer slicked back like an Imperial; it was still styled back away from his face, with more of his hair’s natural texture allowed to show than usual. The olive-gold eyes were happily still the same. 

Yeah, the goatee and mustache were definitely starters for her. 

He seemed to be taking in the sight of her in a white robe on the only bed in the room for a split second before slinging his bag alongside her own. As she looked up toward the Holo screen, she saw her reflection and realized her hair was still held by the pazaak decoration. She scooted herself off the edge of the bed, which was just a bit too high for her and made her way back toward the door and the floor-to-ceiling mirror that was in the entryway. It was going to come off anyway when she showered. 

Eva noticed the complete state of consternation Theron was in. “Hey,” she heard herself say. Theron looked to her. “I – I get that you have conflict about this. It’s just –” Eva shrugged. “I’ve seen people be married. You and I are nowhere near that, even if we were--” She gestured toward the undefined amoeba that was whatever “being dealt in” was. 

Theron cleared his throat. “Yeah. Um. To be clear, I’m not panicking because I think _you’re_ going to take this too seriously.”

Eva cut in. “No, I’m not the marrying type. I think I said to Bowie once that life bonds sounded like slavery, or worse, marriage.” 

Theron’s eyebrows rose. 

Eva began the process of removing her hair piece safely; she was going to need to eat, shower, and change before the table tonight. Theron stood off to her left, between the mirror and the rest of the suite. 

He continued to watch her. “I’m more worried that this will screw us up, as friends. We skip straight from friends to married, and it’s just done too fast, and then if we decided to start something -- ” Theron clammed up and went silent as he made an awkward motion.

Eva carefully began to unweave her strands of hair from her headpiece. “The physicality and the emotions get into a race and we lose?”

Theron visibly relaxed; she apparently understood his concern. “Yeah. Considering where we’re at personally – in reality – this isn’t the best timing for this op.” Eva remember the grim look on his face as he expressed the desire for something not linked to SIS then what might have been guilt immediately thereafter. “Also, in terms of reference for pulling this op off, I have a grand total of one happily married friend. Gary, who’s been with his guy for as long as I’ve known him and they just got married. Trant is on his third wife.”

Eva stopped to look at Theron. “Figured.” They shared a smirk before Theron continued.

“My biological parents never did – not to anyone else either, after they were done. Most of my friends at the office aren’t; they tend to leave the field if they do.” Theron paused.

Eva asked as she continued untangling her hair, “What exactly does SIS training entail when it comes to staging an intimate relationship?”

Theron crossed his arms but gestured with one hand, leaning against the wall. “Two types. The first is getting into a relationship or sleeping with an asset that has information or can gain access to information that you want. They don’t know you’re an agent. They’re often not directly involved in the crime, so they end up being collateral damage. Get in, get out.” Theron made a face at the unintentional double entendre as she stifled a filthy giggle. “I didn’t do those. Like I said, there were other ways.

“The second type is going in with another agent. Mostly, that is about setting the backstory and setting the physical boundaries between partners. Touch this, not that. Answer to this name, not that one. I’ve done those with coworkers. Most of them were already committed or not interested in me that way.” Theron held his hand out toward her. “You’re in a grey area – you’re not SIS, but you’re not a typical asset. We also have to actively infiltrate something, not just observe. The relationship is to be on display as much as your cardplaying .” He awkwardly shifted. 

Eva raised and lowered her chin once as she finally untangled her hair and lifted the hairpiece off. The rest of her thick hair fell around her shoulders, and she carefully laid the piece on the small entryway table. “Names and touches – there’s more to a marriage than that.”

Theron gave a small shrug. “Those ops were short term, mostly observational. This is going to be the sort of challenge I don’t want.”

Eva turned to face him, leaning against the wall on the other side of the mirror. “This isn’t Trant just getting a rise out of you professionally, I take it.”

“No,” Theron said. “It’s personal as well.” 

Eva didn’t pry further, but she had noticed that her pazaak partner had taken a lurid amount of glee in Theron’s card tricks for her. Even in her professional mode, Eva had to admit that Theron impressed her, and she liked being the primary audience for his showboating. 

Then he turned the conversation. “Your parents were married?”

Eva nodded. “Or at least together for so long that most planetary laws recognized them as such.”

“Any advice?”

Eva thought for a few long moments. It had been many years. “It’s the unsaid stuff. It’s the making caf or tea for them unasked. It’s grabbing their jacket that you know they’re going to forget and then you don’t lord it over them when they ask for it, because they know you brought it with you. It’s not being alone. It’s buttoning up each other’s hard to reach buttons.” Now Eva felt slightly uncovered. She wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes for a few moments. “But yeah, it’s knowing without things having to be said.”

When she opened her eyes, Theron was watching her, curious. Eva could almost hear his brain whirring away. “Why aren’t you the marrying type, then?”

Eva felt a tiny vibration of indignance rise up inside of her. No, she didn’t want to explain. She just shrugged. “Life.”

Eva realized how melodramatic that sounded after it came out of her mouth. 

Theron wasn’t thrown easily. “You refer to it as worse than slavery, say you’re not the type, then you describe it like it’s one of the nicest things in existence. That’s inconsistent.”

Eva pulled away from the wall, eyes rolling. “Another piece of advice, husband: pick your battles.”

He was only momentarily dumbfounded when he was referred to as such. Despite the minor shock, Eva could see him still on the hunt. “I like risk.” His eyes glinted. “Besides, wife, there are certain things we should know about each other.”

Eva expected the return volley to include that word. She also did not expect her response to it: she didn’t flinch or innately rear back at it. “Why aren’t you the marrying type?” she asked, quickly.

Theron gave her a combative sneer. “Who says I’m not? As to why I’m not currently married – which will be your next attempt at ending the conversation – do you really have to ask?” Theron’s tone was open and honest with that last sentence. They’d had that conversation months ago now. 

Eva’s internal thought process leapt into hyperspace. 

Eva hadn’t wanted this. She had just wanted to have fun with Theron in bed and hopefully leave him in better condition than when she found him, like scouts and campsites. That’s what she had kept telling herself, but then. 

Then they’d gotten into conversations about the galaxy sometime between flirting and working together. Then it was all business. Then she got shot, and they became friends. He had feelings. Then she told him she wanted him to deal her in when convenient – she had agreed to make this something more intimate than their bodies.

Theron had offered up a lot that night. She hadn’t reciprocated. She eventually gave up (some of) the facts about her parents, but that wasn’t the same as talking about what made a person a disaster internally.

Eva was absolutely, positively a kriffing disaster internally, even as she masqueraded as a level-headed friend to him on Coruscant. 

“So why not?” he asked her again, after she had apparently stood there, staring at him for more than a minute.

“It’s about trust, not risk.”

Oh, Mother of Moons. Eva had long plotted to get naked and let him deep inside her. 

She meant that sexually, not emotionally.

Now it was happening, emotionally.

This wasn’t what she wanted. Kark.

But she didn’t shut up.

She laughed. 

Eva told the truth as if it were the funniest thing in the universe. “Heh. Heh. I had a bad breakup.”

Theron’s face backed down from its teasing antagonism. She thought for a moment that he had walled up again, but no. No, his olive-gold eyes told her he was still right there. She rationalized that if he wasn’t going to run, she wasn’t allowed to be a coward either.

Eva walked past him into the room, toward her luggage which had already been brought up. “It started with a favor. Finding my ship after someone stole it. I trusted him. That started everything. He kept feeding me good business leads.” Theron followed her, keeping a respectful distance. As she stood on one side of the bed by the dresser, he stood at the other, arms at his side.

Eva yanked open her baggage and started to pull out some of her more intimate items and lay them out on the nearby dresser, relocating her garter belt from the bed to that pile as well. “We broke up when he tried to kill me a few times.” Eva snickered at herself, a wide toothy grin spread across her face. “You’d think I’d get the hint the first time, right?” Eva finished placing out her new stockings and lingerie. 

Theron was yet unmoved, not even a blush. His eyes were on her, not on the bed that would eventually be an argument between them.

“I trusted him. I was in love. All I could see was him and me. And I guess you know how it all ended?” Eva met Theron’s eyes.

Dammit, he looked sorry for her. She didn’t want that. 

“You already know how it ended.” Another fit of nervous laughter took her, as she wondered what Theron was thinking about. Was it the ‘idiot smuggler captain’ message? Or was it the riot in Corellia? Did he know about the last conversation? There was security footage somewhere. 

Eva felt her dress for tonight in her hands and gently pulled it out of her bag, hanging it off the edge of the dresser, the hem not quite touching the ground. “I’m not the marrying type because that – if it’s the real thing -- would require me to fall in love and trust absolutely, blindly in that person. I have too many people I love – something _I_ control, something _I_ do –” She emphasized her words with her point finger, shaking it at her dress, as if she was wearing it already. “--They need me to keep the risk to myself.” She chuckled again.

Eva spun to face Theron, not caring whether the robe rose up and flared out and gave him a show. She held her arms out in a grand gesture, mocking herself. “Behold, the smuggler with obligations, the one who values something more than credits and blasters. What a joke.” 

Eva Corolastor was damaged goods, and she was revealing it to a potential bed partner. She’d seen that act end pursuits like this before. That’s why she had her flings. She could control them and keep them from getting close without any guilt, sending them off the next morning.

Theron was far more formidable. Eva couldn’t control Theron. 

She didn’t want to. And that was terrifying, because he could --

“It’s not funny.” His voice was low and serious. There was no amusement in his face. She burned under his gaze; he was dismayed at her own dismissal of herself. 

He could do something like that and not run. That’s why the idea of him was terrifying.

“If I didn’t laugh, I’d cry over it all.” Eva tried to make it sound flippant, but she failed miserably to her own ears. That was mainly because it was the honest-to-gods truth. Her unpacking finished for now, Eva moved toward the fresher that was now on the far side of the suite.

Theron met her at the end of the dresser, crossing to her in two long strides. “Please don’t laugh.” His hands went up as if to stop her, should she go any further. She halted where she stood – they never made contact.

Eva felt the impact of his words in her chest, as if knocking the wind of her. Was this how he felt when she was pesky and bossy? She was bowled over and unsure if she should push past him and carry on with her business or fall into him and distract him until room service arrived. 

Or maybe speak.

Eva knew she probably looked like a slightly oversized owl: eyes wide open, a plush white robe pretending at downy feathers, her heart pattering nervously as some strange light shown in on her.

Theron was not unkind as he looked down at her. “You take the risks, not your crew, because you only trust yourself to get back out of it.”

Eva managed to reply, “When everything happened, it wasn’t just me who was in danger. That—that was not acceptable.” She felt herself fight to regain her footing in the conversation. 

“From what intel you’ve given me,” Theron said, gently teasing with his word choice but then continuing on seriously, “you trust me as a business partner and a friend.”

Eva held his gaze steadily. “I believe you are a good man, but – ” Eva halted. Then she started again. “I always keep the risks in mind. It’s not personal.” 

The words hung in the air for a few moments. Then, Theron said quietly, “I see your conflict.” He rested his hands on his hips, but he did lean in toward her slightly. “I need you to pretend.” His eyes urged her to listen to him. “I do want you to trust me, someday, but for now, while we need to get through this op – ”

“Theron, you’re not the only one worried about getting confused. After everything – not just Nar Shaddaa, but after Port Nowhere and Coruscant, the risks don’t -- ” She couldn’t finish.

Now he froze, eyes sparking at the crystallization of the problem, and she internally winced. Eva knew her weaknesses and her foibles. Eva liked Theron a lot, she hadn’t slept with him, and she didn’t know what to do with _that_ other than wonder if she –

They reached the same conclusion at the same time.

Oh, this wasn’t good. This was _not_ the time.

Theron inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. Theron was trying to rally his professionalism as the same epiphany hit him. “This is … not an ideal situation for you or me or us. I mean, you’re great to work with, and I think we’d enjoy – not that I should enjoy my asset, but you’re –” Inhale, exhale. “We’re friends.”

“Yeah,” she said quickly, grasping at dry land in an emotional ocean. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated back to her. “Ok.” Theron looked at her, and she must have looked distraught still. “New business. Common ground: Trant is an ass,” he finally burst out. 

The tension in the room snapped. Leave it to Theron to find the escape route for both of them, and they knew exactly what it was. They smiled at each other relieved, nervously chuckling, awkwardly rearranging themselves when nothing had been in disarray. 

“Agreed,” Eva chimed in. She finally breathed. “He’s going to be up here soon.” Eva took a step toward him to clarify, “How do you want to tick him off?”

Theron gave a few moments of thought to this. “Beyond room service? Being maddeningly professional, especially after he’s spending a lot of money on this suite to encourage me along.”

Eva smirked. “Right. Follow my lead – Corso can testify to my ability to frustrate a man and his plans.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of different takes have been offered on the Darmas Pollaran relationship throughout fandom - seedy guy who strikes out, a regretted one-night stand, something predatory, or something else. I've taken the stance that Darmas was Eva's first serious relationship and her only one to this point; smugglers move fast, and relationships don't keep up, normally. Given their line of business, Darmas was able to be an exception. We've seen hints of how serious she thought it was through Theron's intel and her own recollections at the end of "Parting of the Ways." Over the next couple of stories, we're going to see how deeply he affected her.
> 
> Theron's in for a rough ride. But for now, our intrepid duo are going to enjoy not enjoying each other's company. Heh.


	4. Take These Lies and Make Them True Somehow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron and Eva antagonize Trant and finally kiss. 
> 
> Given the context, the former is a lot more fun than the latter.

Almost on cue, the door chimed. Eva swiftly relocated her lingerie into the top drawer of the dresser as Theron strolled toward the door to open it. 

The room service cart hovered in, and the familiar attendant entered with it. “Who ordered the lobster Bisellian?” Trant asked in cheery tones as he stepped into the fresher momentarily to hang up a cleaning bag.

Eva raised a hand. Theron closed the door behind them. Trant cast a quick glance at the door before straightening up to his full-height and casting off any illusion of being a waiter. He regarded her with some grudging respect. “Nice hand-off.”

Eva subtly swung her hips as she grabbed the Bisellian, a glass of water, and a fork on her way to the dinette in the suite. “I almost felt guilty about charging you that much for it. Almost.” She sat down and speared a piece of lobster pointedly. “Now I regret nothing.”

Trant gave the room a cursory glance. “Glad you ditched the card jockey guise, Theron. You need a haircut, though.”

Theron scowled as he busied himself with inspecting the rest of the dining cart, but he brightened. “Ooh, filet of coslen Dantoinal.” 

Now it was Trant’s turn to glare at the pair as he realized how high-quality the cuisine was – and how expensive. “Who decided to run up the bill?” he demanded as Theron sat down across from Eva with his meal and water.

Both of them silently raised their hands at the same time as they got to work on their meals. 

Trant sighed. This was, after all, his idea, not theirs; he put himself on the receiving end of a huge hotel bill. “Theron, have you briefed her on your covers?”

“In brief,” he answered around a mouthful of food. “Hey, can I try some of that?” He pointed with the back end of his fork toward the lobster Eva had committed herself to. 

She nodded and turned her plate so he could scoop some off her plate. “Metis Vaner, professional gambler. Honeymooning with her spouse, Antony. They reside on Alderaan.” Eva gave Theron one raised eyebrow, and he turned his plate so she could have a fair shot at his meal.

Trant nodded. “That story needs to hold overnight. If things went as I expected,” Trant said, as his eyes bounced between Eva and Theron, “we may be waiting to see whether the Hutts shut down the port or not. The other side might expect their enemies to make a rush for the port and try to sneak out before the shutdown. Those that do make it out tonight will likely be tracked, possibly waylaid, or destroyed. My operating theory is that, if we sit tight here and don’t rush it, we’re less likely to appear suspicious.” 

Eva and Theron shared a look, and grudgingly, they agreed that the Director’s logic was sound. Skipping out tonight – skipping out on this ill-timed mission – would be more trouble than if they hunkered down and waited for the morning to come. “Understood,” Theron said. 

Trant wasted no time in setting in upon them, again. “You two should probably agree on a backstory for your relationship. Intimate details.”

Eva exchanged a look with Theron. “Who made the first move?”

“You did, obviously. You were at the swoop track on --- Manaan, why not. I knew it well enough to talk to anyone about it. Easier to do things with some root in truth.” Theron paused to take a sip of water and swallow. “I won. You wanted to celebrate.”

“They are a bit trashy, but they’re rich, so they’re ‘free-spirited.’ Were we caught in the pitstop or on your speeder?” Eva worked her way around her plate. “Mine is better.”

“Almost caught, broadcast box – I know the layout. Yeah, I’ll have the lobster next time.” 

Trant wondered aloud, “Next time?”

“Gambling does work up an appetite,” Eva replied. “Midnight snacks.” Eva took a long swallow of her drink. “First date?”

“You asked, I paid. Where at?”

Eva shrugged. “Somewhere with a nice nerf tenderloin – you eat out more than I do.” 

“Little place outside Castle Organa grounds – the tapcafe. Anyone who’s been there knows.” Theron finished his water. “How’d we end up married?”

“Time to ply me with alcohol,” Eva said lightly. Theron nodded and got up to grab the exceedingly nice bottle of champagne she’d ordered. 

Trant’s eyes went straight to the label and let out a low whistle. “You are mad at me.”

“That, and you’ve given us professional gambler and former pro swoop racer backgrounds -- two professions that actually have nice champagne on a regular basis. We must keep up appearances, Director.” Eva primly perched on her chair and waited for Theron to pop the cork.

Theron unwrapped the foil around the cork. “I asked.”

“I was shocked.”

“And you said yes. You wore white?” Theron smirked as he wrapped a napkin around the mouth of the bottle.

“Every woman deserves to wear white.” Eva raised her chin defiantly, and Theron gave her a grin. “Married six months, delayed honeymoon – why?”

Theron considered it. “My new business venture since retiring from swoop. Consulting and branding. Throw in a knee reconstruction, pad out the delay.” The cork popped, muted, and Theron swiftly poured out two glasses. “Love, marriage – next question for busybodies throughout the galaxy –”

Eva reached out for her glass. “Future children. Hold on.” She took a long, long sip of the champagne, until the bubbles tickled her nose. “How many you thinking?”

Theron himself took a deep drink. “I don’t know. How big are families, anyway?” Eva kept her face neutral, but she saw Trant shift his weight. Yes, he was concerned about Theron, personally, beneath that callous approach of shoving them together. “An even number, half girls, half boys. Six?”

Eva gave him a look. “You doing the pushing? Four, max.”

Theron rolled his eyes. “Fine, four. Two of each.” Theron sipped his champagne, unbothered by their topic matter.

Eva had to admit the conversation left her disquieted. Hell, she’d spent the entirety of her adulthood avoiding getting knocked up – talking about having _four_ of the anklebiters _planned_ was a foreign concept, even if it was for a cover.

Granted, the activities required would be a lot of fun. And with that body she felt back on Nar Shaddaa. Hrm. Eva drained her glass on that thought, and immediately, another idea popped into her head. She stood up and passed her glass back to Theron. “What’s the cleaning rotation on this floor?” Eva looked for the datapad with the hotel services on it. 

Theron saw it on the room service cart and gave it a quick once over. “Assuming people are out at the casino, twice a day, noon and midnight. You can order a special room cleaning once a day for free as part of the honeymoon suite.” 

Eva could feel Theron and Trant’s eyes on her as she gave this some considerable thought. “How debauched do you want this cover to look?”

Theron hesitated for a moment before catching the glimmer in her eyes. He squinted, slightly. She tilted her head toward the bed. He responded with a wary look before he noticed the playful waggle of her eyebrows in Trant’s general direction. Then he smirked. “Of course, they would.” 

There was one brief moment where Trant looked triumphant and was ready to make tracks toward the door. That came crashing down as he watched Eva and Theron systematically start to stage the bedroom area without losing a shred of clothing or making any physical contact.

Eva tilted one of the lampshades as Theron yanked the duvet clear off the bed. Theron headed back to the bathroom while Eva made it a point to roll through the bed once or twice, jumping on it for good measure. She gravitated back toward her own luggage and began to pull out her own toiletries. 

Theron re-emerged with his pomade and the saline solution for his contacts. Wordlessly, he ran a small bit of the pomade through his fingers and smeared it on a couple of the pillow cases and on part of the bed. After a moment of thought, he applied some to the headboard and the wall behind the bed. 

“Nice touch.” Eva flipped a bottle of perfume toward him, which he caught one-handed. She grabbed one of the few clean pillows and dragged it firmly across her face. Eva made a grand flourish to show him the near perfect imprint of her made-up face on the bed linen. “Never sleep in your makeup. Ruins linens, can cause an eye infection.”

He responded with a mist of her perfume. “I thought the point of this exercise was to show that the Vaners weren’t sleeping.” 

She let out a sharp, barking laugh. “True enough. The saline?” Eva grabbed the duvet, wiped a bit more of her make-up off on that, and hauled it back onto part of the bed. Theron spread a fine stream of saline on the mattress, then took aim at the duvet. 

Theron and Eva stood at the foot of the bed, surveying the damage. “Enough to make mention to the other maids?”

Eva nodded. “But not enough to go looking for illicit drugs.” Theron turned to look at her, a single eyebrow raised. “Let’s just say this isn’t the first hotel I’ve staged for something like this.”

“I’ve staged rooms before, but not in this context.” Theron gave the bed one more look. “Yeah, I think it’ll sell.”

“Want dessert? I got cheesecake to go with the champagne.” Eva turned and went back toward the room service cart, getting the filthiest look from Trant in the process.

Theron had a brief chuckle as he answered Eva, also seeing the tail-end of Trant’s displeasure. “Normally I think you order champagne to go with the cheesecake, but I’m not going to argue semantics here.”

Trant cleared his throat. “I think the lady adventuress needs to get ready for her night out.” 

Eva looked at the chrono on the wall then stole a brief glance at Trant. He apparently wanted to talk to Theron without her around. “Yeah, time to shower and dress – cheesecake can wait til I’m letting my hair dry.” Eva checked in with Theron, who gave her a quiet nod. “Trant, you need an exit from here?”

The older man went still for a moment, considering, then nodded. “An excuse to leave grounds for a guest would be convenient.”

“Then wait til the end of the tournament tonight. I’ll place. I’ll collect my purse. You take it to the port with the stated purpose of putting it on our ship. Leave it in a locker and send the passcode to a certain former SIS T3 unit,” Eva finished the sentence hesitantly. Theron never had filled her in entirely about the events on Carrick.

“I know the one,” Trant nodded. “The plan’s acceptable. I’ll be watching the floor, then.”

Eva bent at her knees to grab at the discarded dress and stockings. She brought them to the cart and piled them in the now empty food preservers and closed the lid. “Blood is theirs, not mine. I’d like comp for this, if there’s anything left after our hotel venture.” 

Trant looked profoundly annoyed and stayed silent. 

“Right.” Without another look, Eva hastily gathered her change of clothes and makeup and hit the fresher. 

**

As the door locked behind her, Theron felt Trant’s eyes on him. “Theron, I’ve never known you to waste an opportunity.”

The younger man grabbed at his share of the cheesecake. “Depends on what you consider a decent opportunity.” There was a heavy emphasis on the word “decent.” Theron glared at Trant as he sat down at the dinette table, sullenly shoveling the (actually quite good) cheesecake into his mouth. 

“What you do on your on time is up to you. At the moment, you’re cut loose—” Trant began to retort, but Theron cut him off.

“I may not be officially serve SIS or the Republic right now, but I’m still on a mission – one I would be doing whether you wanted me to or not,” Theron muttered around his fork. “And one I would be able to complete without your help and without distractions.” 

“You were the one who went and saved her. You didn’t have to, “ Trant said lightly.

The white-hot fury shot through his veins again, but Theron was able to keep it in check this time. “You played on my belief in doing the right thing. You used my opposition to sacrificing unaware, uninvolved people for a greater good. You’ve orchestrated this for some personal amusement, because you feel something is missing in my life and that this will force me to stop, as you say it, running away from my issues.” He placed his fork on his plate and focused on Trant. “This is not the time. This is not the place. Not while the Republic – hell, the galaxy – is in danger.”

Trant was unimpressed. “When? When do you go off and get a life of your own? You talk about vacations and taking leave to go on half-cocked adventures. Never do it. Never will do it at the rate you’re going.”

Theron’s stare didn’t waver. “As I have told Jace and Satele, I don’t need anyone’s approval. I am satisfied with my life and how I live it.”

“I’ve known you since you were sixteen –”

“And I appreciate what you’ve done for me. That doesn’t mean you have dominion over my off-hours from SIS. Which technically, these are, as you said yourself.” Theron couldn’t help but feel the small rush of victory. 

However, the savoring was brief. Instead of an immediate reply, Trant took the time to gently place Eva’s serving of cheesecake on the table, along with the yet-to-be-finished bottle of champagne. Like any good kitchen worker, he gathered the dirty plates and water glasses, replacing the glasses with clean ones. It felt profoundly inappropriate for Theron to sit by, but their covers had been established. 

“Peace is rare and fleeting. If you’re waiting for a time to not be at odds with the Sith Empire, you’ll never see it,” Trant finally said as he finished his chore and began to wheel the cart out toward the room.

“What’s the point, if the future isn’t worth it? If it isn’t better than the present? If someone doesn’t come through at the critical moment?” Theron watched as Trant’s pace slowed but continued its progress toward the door. “I believe in a better future, where everything works out. That may not include me, personally. But it’s not about me anyway.”

Trant pushed the service cart out into the hallway before turning to stand in the doorway, and Theron braced for the inevitable parting shot. He always had to have the last word. “No, I don’t suppose you would count yourself as one of the faceless masses that deserve a better future. Runs in the family.” 

The door swished close, and Theron’s glare could have burnt a hole in it, with the right implants.

**

After Trant left, Theron got up to lock the door and throw the electronic deadbolt. As he did so, he leaned his head against the door, running through the entire situation again in his head. About him. About her. About getting confused about what was real and what they wished was real.

About whether he should let SIS force his hand in this. Just give in. Make it all real. Use the job to his personal benefit. 

No. 

That wasn’t fair to her. It wasn’t fair to him either, but her most of all – she never signed up for his life. 

Theron wanted to be declared innocent of the charges against him. He wanted to save the galaxy from the Revanites.

And then, in a new and strange development he wanted her to himself, off-the-clock, unattached from SIS, where she wasn’t an asset to be pawed at by other agents. They happened to meet through SIS. That’s as much credit as Theron wanted to give to the agency. 

SIS had been his life. Service to Republic had been his life. Private life was integrated into them. If there was a choice, there was no question as to what would win, but he wouldn’t _have_ to choose between someone and the Republic if they fit the system. If everything aligned.

She was profoundly inconvenient, for everything that she was. 

And yet she endured as a long-term temptation, when others were sent on their way or he screwed up – the line of intentional and accidental was blurred. Theron headed toward the dining area. He needed another glass of champagne.

He slowly sipped at that glass for awhile. Then Theron heard the fresher door swish open. He poured her another glass as well. 

“Does this work?”

Theron turned around to take in the sight. Gods, she was lovely. The hem on this dress was longer, but the plunge at the neck was maddening for Theron. “You’ve broken a law of physics somewhere,” he said weakly. 

Eva raised a brow, knowing smile on her face. It seemed she had reapplied all of her makeup, perhaps a bit more glam – a lot more glitter, certainly. He supposed it was Metis’ heavy hand that dictated this. “I could explain it to you, but we’ll leave it to magic and feminine wiles. You need to get ready, and I need to eat my cheesecake.” He noted that her lipstick had not been reapplied for that purpose.

Theron was still for a moment. “This is it?” He gestured to his clothes.

Eva used her head to point back toward the fresher. “Nope. You have a suit waiting for you. Courtesy of Trant, I’m guessing.”

Theron closed his eyes momentarily and let his memory flicker back to when Trant first entered. “Figures. After I finish getting ready, you ready to set boundaries?” Theron looked her right in the eye as he asked.

Eva gave him a professional nod as she sat down at the table, and with that, Theron turned to change in the fresher. 

**

When Theron came out, he saw Eva’s eyes light up. That did feel good. He also noticed that she’d finished applying her makeup and that her perfume was now on her instead of just the bed. Her hair was redone with the pazaak decoration, and she looked ready to commandeer the tables.

Eva was beautiful.

Theron always knew that. He had to admit it now – it would be like denying gravity or laws of planetary motion. And for now, she was his wife. He gave her a half smile and gestured for her to come over to where he stood, in front of the entryway mirror.

Time to get down to business.

They stared at themselves in reflection. “Antony.” Eva said it while looking at Theron’s eyes in the mirror.

“Antony.” He stared at himself.

“Metis.” She said to herself.

“Metis.” Theron’s eyes looked to her in the mirror.

Eva took an incremental step toward him, and Theron wrapped an arm around her, hand resting on her hip. She leaned in, turning her body toward his, still looking forward. 

It stung Theron to see how good they looked together and to have it be a lie. 

“Pet names?” she asked.

Theron bit his lip. “Nothing you’d ever actually call me, please.” A pause. “Sugar?” 

Eva accepted that with a nod. “Honey?” 

Theron also nodded at that one, then thought for a few moments. Oh, she wouldn’t like this one. “Pet?” Theron offered, and Eva made such a face, he laughed. He honest to the stars laughed. “Oh, that’s getting used tonight.” 

“And never again…..” Eva set her mind to find something, and Theron braced himself. “Stud?”

Theron felt himself flinch at the implications, and it was her turn to laugh. “Yeah, we’ll stop there for now. Four is enough.” Theron saw his thumb move in the mirror, realizing he was stroking her hip absent-mindedly. He almost stopped but he realized that this was going to have to happen. Still… “Public displays of affection. This fine?” She nodded. “I think we’ve established this guy to be a rake, so…” He let his hand slide lower.

“Probably would sell with a grope or a pinch, though I won’t promise not to punch you in the chest,” she replied in a measured tone.

Then Eva planted a palm against his chest – not a punch. He nodded. He moved his hand up to her waist. Her other hand came up to his jaw. “No further.” His eyes darted to his left, her right, signifying the implants. “Not for this.” 

Eva understood. That was theirs, for real. 

Turning to face her, after more than a few moments of hesitation, Theron brushed his lips gently over her cheek, a very soft touch. He didn’t linger. He didn’t want any of this to be happening. 

“Of course, that’s fine, but I’m not your grandmother.”

Theron tensed up, humiliation flooding into him. 

Eva’s remorse for the comment was immediate when she saw his face. “Sorry. That was callous. I know you don’t like this. May I?” she offered. Theron nodded. She went to move in but paused. “You’re going to have to relax. You look like I’m about to hit you.”

“I wish you would. I know how to go undercover and be beaten within an inch of my life,” Theron joked. He almost launched into the story of when he needed to get an Imp retinal scan on Ziost. He could have played footsie with the officer in the bathroom and gone to some alley to take care of business – tell him he wanted to record it or something kinky, smile for the retinal scanner, you old soak.

Instead, he thought the better course was to get curbstomped by three thugs and lose a couple of teeth while pretending to be a drunk moron.

He almost told her; it was a story of how he didn’t like using sex or relationships for covers. He stopped himself. It might reveal too much. Other women would – had – No. Theron shook his head dismissing the thoughts. He couldn’t tell her yet. But he had to. The conflicting urge to push her away and let her in was eating at him, even as she stood before him, utterly concerned at how quiet he’d become.

Eva gently put her hands on his biceps. “Theron, this is just Eva,” she said before hugging him in continued apology for her earlier remark. 

Friends hugged, Theron supposed, as her soft curves pressed up against him. Theron sighed as he let himself hold her. She must have though she offended him worse than she had; he had just gotten caught in his own head again. 

He guessed it was too late to offer the story of how, when a female agent had dropped to her knees when they thought a mark had made them, and before her hand could go to his fly, his immediate response was to kneel as well, screaming about how his contact fell out. 

Yeah, now it’d be awkward. As if it wasn’t already. 

This was a pointed reminder as to why it had to go this way. They _had_ to carry on like this to make sure both of them were above suspicion and safe. Damn Trant for being a meddler. Damn himself for impulsively trying to see her without being seen, which enabled Trant. Theron couldn’t damn her. Eva just wanted to play pazaak this weekend and make some fast credits. 

The hug wasn’t even real. He wore clothes that weren’t his, they called each other names that weren’t theirs (even if she did say it was ‘just Eva’), they washed with soap that wasn’t theirs… this wasn’t…

Lost in his thoughts again, Theron was only jolted back to awareness when she kissed him on the cheek. He could feel the pressure and just a bit of the inside of her lip as the warm, soft caress made contact with his skin for just over a second. He didn’t have time to tense or flinch or even celebrate. “Like that,” she said quietly. There was a palpable difference between his kiss and hers. “We’re married… we know each other very well...” her voice trailed off. 

Theron looked at her face straight on, no mirror required. “I’m better at this when I’m not pretending, I just want you to know.”

“I believe you.”

Something inside him cracked. Her belief wasn’t enough, especially after that lackluster effort of his. He’d prove it to her. 

Theron kissed Eva on the lips. 

For once, Theron’s brain went silent. He couldn’t even detect the drone of the self-contained implants on his temple. He might have actually shorted his brain out with that impulse. All he could sense was her mouth under his lips, moving slightly in response to the pressure.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t love or being in love. It was nowhere near any passion. It was simply proof. 

When the kiss ended, he saw her attempt to reorganize herself; she’d been caught off-guard. “Wow,” was what she was able to muster on short notice. A sharp inhale of breath steadied him. “If that’s for demonstration purposes, I can’t wait to see when you mean it.” Eva looked away in the mirror to touch her lips carefully, making sure her lipstick was still on her. 

Theron felt raw satisfaction and some confidence restored, but the entire situation was still dogging him. “I’ve wanted this, but you’ve been forced into --” His face was pained. 

Eva met his eyes in the mirror in the mirror again, thinking. “So have you. If you’re worrying about my consent, think about Manaan.” She cleared her throat as she stepped away from the mirror. 

Theron followed her into the room as she started to check over her purse for the night. He looked at her, remembering those charged moments before she was merciful and let it pass. “A blanket consent is …a lot of trust,” he said cautiously.

“Physical trust is easy to give away,” she responded quietly. “It’s easy, temporary, and it only affects me. It’s everything else that really matters, and I’m already in over my head.”

Theron tilted his head slightly before he understood. Trust wasn’t about her body. She didn’t care as much about that as all the intangibles that went into falling, all the trust, and all the risk for her and those she already loved –

He knew her crew and her ship and he could always find her --

And she said he wasn’t the only one confused---

“This is such a bad idea.”

“It’s just one gaudy night, where we pretend. A lot.” Then she gave him a flirtatious look that didn’t quite have all the zing it normally did, as she reached up to adjust his collar. “It’s all in the name of saving the galaxy, you know.”

Theron felt a smile struggling to surface as he shook his head slightly. “You want us to yell out ‘for the galaxy’ as you hit the tables?”

“I think ‘for the Republic’ is far more likely to come out of your mouth in a fit of excitement.” 

Theron had a brief flash of a potential context run through his mind. Theron clenched his teeth in a hard smile. “You are already being awful, and we aren’t even in public yet.” 

Eva removed her hands from his collar to rest her them on her hips. “You decided to number and gender our children in front of Trant.”

“Did that bother you?” he asked, a smirk emerging.

“You’re being awful, too,” Eva insisted. “Between that and telling me to run along home back on Coruscant, I’m beginning to think you have some latent domestic fantasies.”

Now he wheedled her– he’d hadn’t thought _she’d_ be flustered by _his_ teasing. “I’m a retired swoop racer, fast life, fast women. Maybe I just want to slow down.”

“And a professional gambler is slower, comparatively.” Eva gave him a raised eyebrow.

Theron seized upon the coupe de grace. “I’m not asking you to give up the gambling, sugar, just the drinking. Better for the tykes.” 

Her mouth fell open, the corners pulled upward in shock and amusement. A squeak emanated from her. Theron had her, the hound outfoxing the fox. “So, are we ready for the night, Metis?” He let himself wear the rakish grin that Mr. Vaner would have perfected on a bunch of swoopy groupies.

Eva finally managed to close her mouth, a grin unable to depart from her face. “Antony, I can already tell it’s going to be a night. Of some sort.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was on a late 80s early 90s kick when I wrote this, so Bull Durham and George Michael make appearances. 
> 
> As to the characterization of Trant: in my headcanon, Trant misses the field, so we do see him stretching beyond the Director's desk (tailing Theron in "Love in the Time of Technoplague" and blowing up the op center on Carrick to set Theron loose in "The Parting of the Ways"). He also doesn't want Theron to be like his parents (who are alone, Jace unhappily) -- or him (who can get into relationships but can't stay in them). I discuss more of those issues in "Fathers and Son," but the point for this story is that this smuggler is the first person since Teff'ith to hold Theron's attention. Unlike Teff'ith, it's pretty clear Theron doesn't think of this one like a sister. The difference between Trant and Theron is that Trant's sense of ethics is steadily in the grey -- he wouldn't see anything wrong with using an op to get Theron a personal win, but Theron has a LOT of issues with that. It would suggest Eva liked Theron's cover or his 'agent' mode. Not him, personally.


	5. Champagne Spies and Caviar Schemes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our dynamic duo tread the boards as Antony and Metis Vaner.

Antony and Metis Vaner arrived at the gaming tables right on schedule. They went through a hastily installed security gate and were scanned for weapons. Her purse was searched.

Eva’s hairpiece went unnoticed, like most hatpins on Alderaan and Dubrilion in the centuries prior. So did her hold-out knife and blaster (both single-use printed plastics – cheap, usable only once, but effective enough). 

Ironically, her underwire bra set off the security sensor. Theron and Eva exchanged a smirk once they waved her through. So much for magic.

Theron’s blaster was safely stowed. Hutt hotels accommodated a large number of sentient species, so the bathrooms had several options for waste disposal. Eva had watched from the door as Theron had nonchalantly wrapped his blaster in a condom and dropped it in the old fashioned commode’s water tank. “Always knew to avoid men who said they were too big for them,” she remarked. 

Theron had let his lips curl at the corners as he replaced the tank cover, but he’d offered no other reaction before they left the hotel room, fully expecting it to be searched. Hopefully the bed would be enough of a distraction and just ridiculous enough to make the maids dismiss them as two lustful idiots.

Now downstairs, Theron’s hand went up to run through his hair, then he murmured to her, “Our mutual crewman says the port is locked down. Picked up some chatter that says the casino lost all the security footage from this afternoon.”

“From the time my gaming partner arrived, no doubt. He was never here as a customer.” Now he was staff, somewhere, waiting for Eva to do her thing. “Anyone fumbling around my ship?”

“Keeps getting glares from one Port Authority guy.” Theron paused as he listened to T3’s cheery rendition of this morning’s events. “Seven feet in the air?”

“Four feet back from the shipping container, and I helped him up to steal his invite to the tournament.” Eva leaned into Theron slightly, his hand sliding from the small of her back to rest on her hip, as practiced. “Drinks. Then I play the first few rounds. There are several breaks throughout the tournament when I’m allowed to see you – losers get comforted and leave, winners get lucky.” Metis gave a her husband a naughty shake of her shoulders.

Admirably, he kept Antony’s cool sexual charge running: no sign of Theron Shan’s reactions to that sort of thing while working. “I take it that’s to avoid cheating and accusations thereof.” Theron’s eyes scanned the casino, finding an appropriately marked space for companions and spouses. “And I’ll be out of your line of sight. I suppose I’ll watch your back.” 

Eva replied, “Yeah. Might do well to hang around a wall to make sure yours is covered as well.” Her eyes met his. “Sorry I can’t watch yours.”

“I know, I’m sorry for you too. It’s something to behold.” He made her stifle a laugh. Antony was an awful human being. She saw a smirk that wasn’t quite Theron’s own. 

This wasn’t real, as his hand slid from her hip to her backside. This wasn’t real, as he kissed her briefly – the way spouses do when they have been together for a significant time, and there was no desperation, but a viewer could tell they were still hot between the sheets. This wasn’t real, as she stepped in closer, hand to his chest. 

Maybe the feeling of safety was real, but Theron was a good man; that was a different “safe” compared to the safety felt between lovers. Eva wondered if the feelings, if they ever crossed paths, would become indistinguishable. The pair resumed their walk to the bar. “Not the usual.”

Theron nodded. “Trashy, right?”

“Free-spirited. We have money.” Again, they mocked their fake identities. 

Antony ordered cyclonic highballs over ice, a vodka-based drink that looked like a rainbow. It was a tourist’s drink on tropical vacation planets where the quality of alcohol didn’t matter as much as the volume. Theron nor Eva would never drink such a monstrosity; they had a good sense of fine liquor. Antony and Metis, however, were size queens when it came to their alcoholic content.

Once their drinks arrived, Theron and Eva grasped their drinks and silently toasted each other before, in-character, they raced each other to the bottom of their glasses. The bartender watched with some mixture of admiration and concern. Theron help up two fingers to indicate another round. As he turned away to get ice from the other end of the bar, Eva leaned in. “Those implants take care of the alcohol?”

“They keep the head clear when activated; my body still has to process the poison.” He gave her a slight smile. “I wouldn’t recommend pacing with me.” 

“I was about to give you the same advice, even with the implants,” Eva sent the return volley. “Tables are about to open.” The slight smile grew. 

They patiently waited for their drinks, then Theron escorted her to her gaming table. On the way, he murmured, “Emergency signal. Something to tell me to get you out of here quickly – spiked drink, a tail, a weapon – anything.”

Eva considered the question as they kept moving steadily. Her mind ran through options. “Playing with my hair. It’s a nervous motion, a fidget response. Dad trained me out of that so I wouldn’t get shot. I won’t do it unconsciously.” Eva pressed her purse into Theron’s hands as they reached the table; they had to part by tournament rules. 

Theron raised and lowered his chin once. “For luck,” he said, and that was the only warning she had before he kissed her, more than slightly naughty with the tip of his tongue, punctuated by a light pinch to her backside. Eva’s breath hitched slightly, to which he whispered, “Not too hard?”

“It’s fine.” Metis Vaner gave her husband a final sultry look before turning to her first hand at the pazaak table.

**

The first rounds of a tournament were always chaotic. Upsets happened. Eva broke into pazaak this way, years ago, eliminating someone who was reliably in the top 5 when she was only 17 (though her chain code read 22 at the time). She always accepted it could happen to her as well.

But it would be profoundly inconvenient tonight.

And more than slightly embarrassing, since Theron was here. Who said she didn’t want to show off for him, just as much as he had for her?

Fortunately, Eva kept her wits and narrowly edged another veteran, leaving the table – and the higher placing – to be contested between herself and some bright young thing, a Rodian in what appeared to be his brother’s lucky jacket. Both of them had blown through their personal decks, leaving only the cards that were dealt by the house.

Eva couldn’t look back to where Theron stood. She focused on the game before her, three cards. She tapped. 

The Rodian tapped, then after a pause of realization, he showed his hand: 9, 4, 5, 2. Pazaak – a perfect 20.

Eva peered down at her cards. In theory, they’d have to play another round if they tied. Eva didn’t feel like doing that. “I haven’t bucked the tiger in awhile.” Eva tapped for another card.

Another. The Rodian realized the one way she could win over him now that he already had pazaak. “No way, pretty lady.” She gave him a charming smile and tapped again. 

Murmurs started to go up. Tap. 7 cards.

Tap. 8. Surely she’d bust. The Rodian shifted. 

Tap. 9. Now the voices were louder, demanding to see if she’d made it or busted. 

The automated table whirred a moment, then her cards were revealed automatically: 2, 1, 4, 2, 1, 5, 1, 3, 1. 

She’d beat the house with a nearly impossible hand.

There was a silence as it registered on the crowd. 

In contrast, a dull roar went up as the players realized what she’d done. The dealer shook his head in disbelief. “You’re not hiding anything in that dress, lady – congratulations!” He flipped a switch under the board and miniature fireworks went off over the table.

Eva clapped, delighted, and offered a hand to the young Rodian. Cheers went up in the crowd. As Eva released the young man’s hand – who was still thrilled to be moving on – she heard a familiar voice yell out. “That’s my wife! Best player on the planet.”

She turned her head to see Theron – not Antony, but Theron – grinning at her. She couldn’t help the flutter in her heart. _It’s not ---_

No, that grin was real. So was the pride. So was her joy at having a table-side cheerleader for the first time in a long, long time.

The dealer gave the players the all-clear, and they were allowed to depart the table, or partners were allowed to come join them. Theron and Eva met half-way and embraced, with a kiss in passing. “Great job, seriously.” He stepped back slightly to see her, trying not to obstruct the flow of traffic around them. He was still smiling at her. “You strung it out to the ninth card – that doesn’t happen.”

Eva grinned up at him. “It was either that or play another round with a tie. I don’t have that kind of time tonight, so I took the risk.” She tilted her head slightly toward the bar. 

“You could have lost.” With ease, Theron reached for her hand. 

“That wasn’t going to happen.” They walked side-by-side, their joined hands brushing against her thigh, then his, as they walked. Their shared gaze never wandered. 

Nah, it wasn’t real at all.

**

The next rounds were far less suspenseful. Rookie nerves came into play, and old, unbroken bad habits did too. Eva easily persevered. Theron enjoyed the show, all the same. He’d never seen her work a table live before, just as she had never seen him be a field agent before now. There was satisfaction in seeing another person in their element, even if they were pretending to be someone else at the time. 

That fact always circled back around in Theron’s mind.

It didn’t stop him from being the most obnoxiously supportive spouse this side of the galaxy, however. The end-of-round search Eva did, scanning the casino for him – yeah, that hit him in the heart, every time, even as it was a lie. 

At least a little.

End of round, again. She didn’t look for him. This time, her hand went to twirl her hair distractedly. She let her attention drift back toward the table, lingering --

He was already moving.

Throwing knives in her hair, knife and holdout blaster between her legs. Had not had a drink since he gave her one at the last break – she declined two from casino employees. No unusual motions from rivals. Movement around the table had been normal, and she had not flinched – no indication she’d been stuck with something. Others remained near the table, mingling, but not with her. Nobody was being led away to avoid. Nobody conversed with her – they didn’t know her, and he’d been an over-attentive, over-possessive husband. 

Eva twirled her hair again by the time he reached her. Theron’s hands met her shoulders. “Sugar, what’s got you bothered? Normally we’re at the bar---”

Theron didn’t get to finish Antony’s enabling of an alcoholic before her tongue was in his mouth and her hands were fisted in his suit jacket.

Antony responded all too enthusiastically to Metis’ instigation, even as Theron stumbled internally before the agent’s brain resumed course. No spiked drink, no sign of an injection – aerosol? But how to avoid anyone else at the table? She was so soft – how’d she get the lipstick to stay on? As he readjusted his mouth over hers, he gently clicked his back teeth together, making sure whatever she’d been contaminated by wouldn’t affect him. 

Theron broke the kiss to breathily ask her, “You need me to take you somewhere more private?”

She hummed in response, nuzzling his jaw. 

“Back upstairs?” he rumbled suggestively, trying desperately to make eye contact. Pupils dilated, contracted, blown out, normal – seeing any of the aforementioned would be helpful.

“I just need a few minutes – I never take long with you,” came the flirty, tipsy response. Theron was torn between rolling his eyes and hoisting her over his shoulder to get her to an emergency med station. The latter might draw suspicious eyes, but then at least she wouldn’t be _dead_ or worse, trying to seduce him while under the influence. 

“Well, what do you recommend, pet?” Theron kept his voice low and in-character as his eyes drifted around the casino, a leer on his face. “We only have fifteen minutes.”

Eva finally looked up at him, pupils normal, though the look she gave him was absolutely coquettish. “Honey, can’t you ask some of those nice men to give us a little private space? They have _somewhere_ for themselves….” 

Theron de-escalated from red alert, slightly. Private conversation necessary, sexual activity implied so they wouldn’t be interrupted. Got it. He still had spare credits from his swoop circuit runs.

“Well, let’s see what we can do. Maybe they’re into swoop racing – you can bet on that on Hutt Cartel planets, you know.” His companion gave him a dreamy hum in response, latching onto his suit jacket like a leech. She gently tugged her purse out his hand. 

It didn’t take Theron long to find a bouncer whose eyes couldn’t stay off Eva; Theron had watched them milling around all night, and this guy – middle aged, thick around the neck, and round enough that he hadn’t seen his feet in years. 

Perfect.

“Hey, uhhh –” Theron let himself nervously chuckle. “You don’t suppose there’s a private bathroom we could have access to? We – ahh –” Eva’s fingers were plucking at the buttons at the top of his shirt, and the bouncer’s eyes drifted away from Theron’s face. “We need to take care of something and we can’t get up to the room and not have her disqualified from her table.”

The bouncer hesitated. 

Theron immediately leaned in slightly, trying to convey the urgency. “You ever try for a kid? When they want it, they want it, you know?” Eva giggled on cue, pressing her face into his neck, as if embarrassed (but only a little, as he noticed her hand going to his hip, right where the bouncer could see it).

The bouncer went to his pocket immediately, and Theron squeezed Eva’s hip in his hand, readying to throw her behind him if – and the guy pulled out his wallet. A ream of holostills accordioned out. “Oh yeah. Got six – bless my wife.” Theron and Eva shifted and tilted their heads in unison to get a look at the family: they all looked like their father, no doubt. The bouncer turned to swipe a card through a previously unseen security card reader, and a door in the wall popped open. Private powder room, with assumedly a bathroom through the door beyond. 

“No little sound devices or holo cams for you boys to get you laughs later, right?” Eva asked, voice slightly higher and more nasal than usual. 

The bouncer shook his head and leaned in. “Nah, bigwig visitors go in there for a spice break – gotta try the product before they distribute. Their privacy and discretion is valued by the Hutts. You’re safe, lady.” 

With that, Eva gently tugged on one of Theron’s loose curls at the back of his head and gave him a kiss that could make a man’s knees buckle if they weren’t ready for it. He was, and he nudged her toward the door even before their lips broke apart. She gave him a shimmy of her shoulders before walking through. 

The bouncer gave Theron a nudge as he passed by. “Ya put good stuff in her, and beautiful baby pops out, take it from me. You two have fun.” Theron slipped him a few credit chips as he passed, lascivious smirk on his face.

For someone who’d had a male birth control implant since they hit the market, this was one of the more surreal conversations Theron had ever had, cover or not. And he’d done a _LOT_ of strange stuff as a spy. 

Theron made sure the door closed securely behind him, his implants running a scan to make sure nothing was flowing in or out of the room.

“We clear?” came Eva’s voice behind him.

He gave her a nod, and before he could turn around and address her, she was gone through to the bathroom itself.

Theron listened for a second, and then it dawned on him. “Did you seriously just do all that for a bathroom break?”

“Have you seen the line to the ladies’ room? This _was_ an emergency.” 

Theron counted to ten before letting out himself exhale in a long, drawn-out hiss. “We could have done this in the men’s room – it would suit _them_.”

“Can we continue this conversation in two minutes?”

Theron scowled at the door and sat down hard on the powder room’s couch, not answering her. There he was, thinking she’d been in actual danger, poisoned or drugged, and _she_ —

Smugglers. Stars, why did he think this one was a good idea all those months ago?

_You already had that conversation. Why are you getting mad when she’s doing exactly as you’ve predicted?_

Eva Corolastor survived. Always. She had a ship and a crew to get back to. Didn’t mean she couldn’t amuse herself at the same time. Or be highly effective in unconventional ways. 

He couldn’t pay her anything on this op. She was going to win tonight – she was going to anyway, but he should really be paying her for this nonsense. Theron didn’t know if the slush fund was still paying her on his request, now that he was “rogue.” Trant should be paying her for this. Well, he was, with all that expensive champagne, the food, the nice room –

Trant was trying to pay him too, but not in a form he’d _ever_ accept. Theron didn’t profit from his ops; he was a servant of the Republic, not some privateer. 

Eva was – had been. Still here, even without the money, though. 

A flash of memory to when she mocked herself upstairs. _Behold, a smuggler_. 

Theron heard the sink turn on, and a few moments later Eva emerged, much more relaxed than she had been. He looked up at her, and he must have been wearing some expression on his face that made her wary. “I’ve had a good amount to drink tonight. My liver function is legendary, but my kidneys are mortal. If you want to stick your head outside and see how long the ladies’ room line is –”

“Why didn’t you run?” he interrupted her. “You could have. Swapped back to being Captain Corolastor and ditched once I got you out of there. No more EC. No Metis Vaner at all.”

Eva looked at the mirror that hung next to the couch, careful fingers adjusting her hair, examining the state of her make-up. She found something she didn’t like – or at least pretended to – and opened her purse. Eva set to work blotting her face and re-applying face powder. “I don’t abandon my friends,” she said simply. 

Theron watched her. “The ones that you choose to take the risk for?”

Metis’ aloof vanity dissipated. “You’re getting there.” Not quite joyful, not quite sad. Bittersweet, sort of like the op. “You should probably hit the head yourself. Men tend to flock the next round.” 

He took her advice.

When Theron came back out, Eva sat on the couch, her back angled toward the corner of the couch closest to the bathroom. Instinctively, she was watching the outer door. That didn’t surprise Theron. She spoke to him as he crossed her line of vision and took a seat – they had just over seven minutes before they had to stagger out, giggling and exceedingly relaxed. “How are you holding up?”

Theron shrugged as he leaned back. “I’ve got the easy part. I watch you and make sure nobody’s looking too hard. You’re the one who has to be watched by possible hostiles and still play to win.” 

“And get compared to a nine-month slow cooker,” she quipped, eyes remaining on the door. 

She’d heard that after all.

“But that’s my body. They don’t get to see the rest of me.” 

Theron let his gaze drift away from her and toward the opposite wall. He could understand that sentiment. Most of his partners – hell, most of his friends -- knew less about him than she did after that night in Coruscant, state secrets and all. Now he wondered who, beyond the crew, knew her like he did after today.

Only one name came to mind. 

In retrospect, Theron probably should have studied that intel deeper, even if it had made him feel like a voyeur. He hadn’t, because he was a man viewing a female subject. He hadn’t wanted to be tempted to use that for personal advantage if the opportunity ever occurred – or especially if it didn’t. Perhaps the omission was for personal gain instead, and the commission of such study would have been for professional gain.

This operation was blurring all the wrong lines for Theron, and there was a visceral frustration that came with it. 

“Keep it that way,” he heard himself say. “I did mean it when I said being beaten up is a lot easier to cope with than the feelings that come with these sorts of ops.” 

Her short laugh drew his attention back toward her. “You’re right. Never denied that. Learned it second-hand,” Eva said, leaning her side against the back of the sofa, one leg drawn up off the floor. “One time, Akaavi and Corso had to get out of a hotel – or brothel, maybe it was both, I can’t remember, this was years ago.” Her face split into a grin, her lipstick and the excessive amounts of glitter on her eyelids catching the soft light of the powder room. “Akaavi had stolen some girl’s dress to smuggle the drop back to the ship – Guss and I had sliced into the street corner security cam to watch their backs. The drop was .. spherical, shall we say, and it had been dark at the site.”

Theron closed his eyes and let out a short laugh of his own before reopening them. “She looked pregnant when she stuffed it under the dress.”

Eva nodded. “Corso only got a good look at Akaavi and her get-up in the middle of the street in daylight as he was supposed to be hailing a cab to get them back to the port. And at the exact same moment, someone from inside the brothel, hotel, whatever, started chasing after them. I tell Corso to make a scene – do a domestic. Slug her or grab her horns or something – Akaavi can take the punch, we stage fights to get out of stuff, this isn’t unusual.” 

Eva paused, and Theron put the pieces together in his head. “Given that it’s Corso and he had to improvise, he did the opposite of hitting her while she looked like that.” 

Eva nodded. “Dropped to his knees and proposed to her in the middle of the street, yelling about he didn’t want his baby to grow up without their father.” She started to laugh, as Theron smiled and shook his head at the hapless Corso under pressure. “Everyone started drinking at that point on the ship, because it’d all gone off the rails and there was bloody nothing I could do except let it play out.” Eva looked up at Theron’s face, directly now. “You know how Corso’s nose has that crook to the left up toward the bridge?”

Theron nodded. Then it occurred to him. “Didn’t have that before Akaavi got back to the ship with the drop?”

She shook her head. “Nope. And the thing is, he didn’t mind getting belted into the following week. Because the last guy to propose to Akaavi ultimately betrayed Clan Spaar.” The smile faded to a slightly amused but knowledgeable one-sided upturn of the lips. “Corso knew he’d screwed up from the second he saw her face while he was on her knees, and there was an endless amount of apology for about three months of my ship.” 

“Considering we’re already married, I can promise you I won’t propose for this cover.” They both laughed at that. Now Theron returned her question. “How are you holding up? Is that -- ” Theron made a gesture back toward the guard outside, “—bothering you?” 

Eva shook her head slightly. “It’s just the opposite of an objective for me with my life as it is. That’s the part of the cover that feels most unnatural. You know?”

Theron had a ready answer for that. “I do. Spies don’t exactly have the safest or longest lasting careers. And – ” Theron wordlessly gestured to himself. She lowered her eyes for a moment, signalling understanding. The guilt got to him, finally. “This is all my fault, to be clear – I took a risky cover on the off-chance I’d see you from a distance.” 

Eva’s brow rose momentarily. “You broke your own rules.”

“I said no contact. Didn’t mean I wouldn’t keep tabs on you – and you did keep sending T3 information about Revanite sightings. You didn’t think that would go nowhere,” Theron pointed out evenly. “As you said, Nar Shaddaa was just bad luck—”

Eva interrupted him, “Good luck, considering what my other options were at the time.” 

Theron leaned his head on his hand. “—and this was Trant’s doing. Could have been worse, though. We could have been paired up with people other than each other.” 

Theron took a small delight in watching that tiny spike of jealousy briefly show itself when Eva considered what Theron’s options would have been. But she wrote over that quite quickly. “You and Jakarro, me and Bowie – they’d be brawling in the street about their respective partner’s honor and dignity, and we’d be casting utterly irritated expressions at each other from across the room.” 

They both laughed at that, probably for different reasons. That Lana thing from Manaan wasn’t going away. Theron was privately amused since Lana had been more interested in Eva than she ever remotely had been in Theron. But that wasn’t any of his business to convey to her.

Theron’s implants signalled that they needed to get back outside. “We need to go.”

Eva nodded and rose to her feet. Theron did likewise and turned to face the door, reaching his hand back to grab hers. From behind, he heard her say, “I’ll see you later, Theron.” There was a moving of fabric, the sounds of something put askew or a skirt hiked up slightly higher than it had been. 

“Same to you, Eva.” Theron unbuttoned a few buttons at his shirt front (not enough to show off anything identifiable), then paused for a second before audibly unzipping. Eva burst into Metis’ high-pitched giggles as they pushed back through the door, utterly inappropriate and overly obvious.


	6. Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell -- NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tournament comes to an end, but that doesn't mean Theron and Eva are safe yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You probably shouldn't read this at work.
> 
> Also, no Nautolans were actually harmed in the making of this chapter.

The air conditioning failed in the main casino hall. The next three rounds became hellish.

Eva sighed as the cooler night air hit her skin. She’d escaped to the large balcony area when the dank heat had become too much for her. Normally, she played with her rivals before she devoured them and their money. She’d grown tired of playing and had cut right the brutal point on a number of matches. 

Cold wet lips pressed to the back of her neck, and she gasped, arching her back. She knew who that was. Antony was an unrepentant tease. It was a welcome one as he handed her a fresh cyclonic highball. “How’re the tables tonight, pet?”

Eva moved to kiss Theron quickly to hide the scowl at the sound of that nickname. “Well, my temper hasn’t improved with the lack of air conditioning, so I’ve just slain a table in record time. I dawdled just a bit so they don’t _have_ to write my name down, but I know I did it.” She took several deep swallows of her drink, trying to cool off.

Theron took a sip of his iced drink and leaned in toward her, as if to kiss her. “We’re being watched by the Bith and the Twi on the far side of this balcony. Specifically, they’ve been tailing me most of the night, as you’ve been appropriately obvious as the winner of several major tables.” Then he did kiss her, leaving cold in his wake.

Eva sipped her drink. “Well, maybe we should make our marriage very obvious so they know you’re with me and not _at all_ interested in them.” 

Theron’s eyes scanned the watchers discretely one last time before letting Antony’s hungry leer travel down her dress. “Not my type anyway. You keep an eye on them, and make sure you don’t miss your table call, Metis.”

With that, he finished his drink and placed the empty on a decorative planter box. Kisses were pressed to her lips as his hands guided her backwards and away from the crowd. Strategically, Eva realized Theron was positioning her where they would be seen, if someone looked for them; a single noise would call them out. However, people could just ignore their activities. She could see his tails…and they’d get an eyeful of whatever Antony was going to do when they came up on them. It would be _very_ awkward for them to interrupt.

Yes, very. Eva found herself lifted off her feet and her backside set down on the ledge. Now she was his height – the wall high enough to keep people from toppling over, but it also seemed to provide a good angle for other potentially amorous activities. Theron’s hand blindly swept her glass away, and a few seconds later, she heard it crash on the roof below them. His mouth remained ardent on hers for a few moments more. 

His cool lips descended down her neck, not even pausing as they passed her collarbone. “Eyes up. You can use your knee if it’s too much.” Eva heard his voice, but still almost choked as she felt him gently pull at her skin of her decollette with his mouth. Her heartbeat sped up as he worked her skin, not hard enough to leave marks but certainly firm enough to leave lingering sensations even after his mouth had traveled elsewhere. Eva breathed deeply, her chest rising and falling, his mouth going with it. This was fun, real or not. 

But it was still dangerous, and not for the emotional reasons they were both well aware of. “Still looking. Still thinking about coming over here.” Eva watched the two confer through half-closed eyes. She let a hand come up to weave into the curled edges of Theron’s hair at the back of his head. That caused his breath to catch for a second.

Then steadily, the mouth returned to her throat and for a split second, she felt teeth. “No,” she hissed. He stopped. Gradually, Theron’s lips worked over that imperiled skin in apology. Eva moved her free arm around to grab at the back of his jacket. Hell, they were still coming. Time to give them a show.

She went to part her legs and wrap them around his waist, pull him in close -- but Theron’s hands grabbed at her thighs, pressing them together even as he made it appear like he was getting up under the dress. “Holdout,” he muttered against her throat. The weapons. Couldn’t expose them or else the party was over – security would be alerted, they’d be swarmed, they’d likely be dead. She had forgotten, entirely, in those moments. 

“Hesitating,” Eva whispered as she got a quick glance at Bith and the Twileek. “They’re thinking we’re real. Maybe.”

Theron cursed in a language she didn’t know – she assumed it was a curse from the vehemence and the guttural nature. Then his mouth covered hers again, and she felt the final gambit to ensure they’d be left alone.

The second she felt his fingertips skirt across her skin and into the bodice of her dress, Eva held her breath and her hands clenched, one grabbing at the fabric of his suit jacket shoulder, the other at the back of his neck, tangled in his hair. Her brain jolted with the words ‘blanket consent,’ how she said her body didn’t matter, it didn’t have to count –

But it was _him,_ someone desired for so long –

As his fingers and then palm slid across her breast, Eva felt herself uncontrollably arch toward him, a small cry released into his mouth. His hand stilled immediately, but she still felt herself responding to the warmth of his palm, the tip hardening. “ _Yes_.” A hesitant thumb skimmed across her nipple, and she broke the kiss with a moan. His mouth fell to her neck again, a slight tremble through his shoulders, a squeeze to her thigh, and she looked out at the crowd as her clear-headedness fought a war. 

The men – the two of them that had been watching Theron, with bad intent -- they were turning around, casting the occasional look in their direction – probably to see if he would actually undress her and ravish her there. Eva let her head tip back to see the sky above, trying to reach for some reserve, some will to tell him to stop –

She honestly didn’t want him to stop the firm pressure of his palm, the teasing of his thumb. But he probably did. Eva released her grip on the back of his head as she scanned crowd again head gradually lowering. Their watchers were drifting away now. Time was almost up. She opened her mouth to say something, but Theron met her on the descent, stealing the words from her mouth. 

No, maybe he didn’t. 

Eva had never been a pillar of moral fortitude _in her life,_ as her free hand now slid to his neck and then back up to his jaw. Stars, he was a good at this. Should she –

Would touching his temple break the spell or blur the lines for him? If he didn’t stop? 

The guilt would kill him. 

“We’re safe,” she said softly into his mouth. 

That did it. He pulled back and away from her, carefully, not disturbing her balance atop the ledge. She didn’t look down at him as she watched the crowd, making sure there wasn’t anything she’d missed, nothing that she’d been sloppy about as she’d added dream fodder. She could feel him as the hand on her thigh migrated up to the safe space of her hip and his other hand – now still beneath the fabric of her dress – extracted itself. Her peripheral vision caught it pressing flat against the slightly rough texture of the ledge, as if trying to erase the memory already. His head was bowed.

Eva’s eyes darted to the game clock over the main door back inside. She still had a minute before her table call went out. She grabbed at the hand on the ledge, and Theron, shame-faced, looked at her. “Whenever you decide –” Because whatever happened between them was his decision, as she’d ceded that power months ago – “don’t forget this.” 

The words seemed to make no dent. Still looking at her with that distraught expression, he silently picked her up by the waist and effortlessly returned her to the ground. He tugged down the hem of her skirt to its proper length, made sure the plunge of the dress gave away no secrets, and gently adjusted the fabric at her shoulders, erasing impropriety. Eva saw his mouth start to open but she cut him off. “We’re still alive. _We’re_ still here.”

He froze. 

Eva had to go now. They were calling out her table. Kark it. She wiped her own expression from her face as she walked past Theron and plastered on Metis’ quasi-vacant sneer, a face that always looked as if she was smelling something foul, unless she was letting someone between her legs. 

As she crossed the patio floor toward the door, she heard him say, “You trust me?”

“Even more,” was her quick response. Now to the tables for the last rounds. 

**

Antony Vaner was a sexually indiscreet man, and his wife only encouraged him, so it appeared to the men approaching the couple from behind. 

There had been an inconsistency on the reservation registry that had reportedly been resolved by the desk staff. Before they left on a business trip, however, the operators of the casino gave them orders to watch but let the janitor take care of it if they suspected anything. Probably nothing to do with what happened upstairs earlier today, but just watch. In case.

They concluded the pair were absolutely nothing more than excessively rich space trash as Vaner slipped his hand into his wife’s dress front, and her back arched in the moonlight that somehow still reached through Katalla’s atmosphere.

Unbeknownst to the flunkies, the janitor’s orders were the same regardless of their report. 

**

Metis Vaner threw her semi-final table. Theron knew she had done it. He just knew it. She’d still take home a modest purse by placing third, but she made it a point not to win. Theron supposed Eva didn’t think it fair for a fictional person to gain glory that belonged to a real person; EC was real, but she wasn’t here right now. 

There was no joy as she watched the credit chips be piled into a modest container, augmented with small amounts of wupiupi, Calamari flan, and nova crystals. Eva was just tired of being a person that she, quite frankly, would avoid at tournaments. Metis Vaner was typically a mark for people like Eva: arrogant, unobservant, flaunting her money.

Later, she told Theron a story that added substance to his supposition and observation. One time, when she, Risha, and Akaavi had dipped a bit heavily into a rather nice bottle of rum, they’d done the math. If Voidfleet had been a legit company, it’d be in the top 10 of the galaxy. If Eva’s earnings were at all official and legal, she was probably in the top 15 richest people in the galaxy; Akaavi had argued that if she was legitimate, she would have to pay taxes, lowering her actually take-home income to be #20, but Risha argued that if Eva paid accountants to cook the books in a legal fashion, she’d be top 10. Eva split the difference between the two of them to keep the peace and get Akaavi to pour another. 

“Proud of you, pet,” Antony purred in her ear after the table was cleared and he was permitted to approach. A wandering hand clutched her backside. 

“Oh, I could have done better,” she said, using her honest irritation at the situation, the nickname, and the heat to dishonestly suggest her fault was not on purpose. “Bit disappointing.” 

He stepped into her peripheral view at the table, now that the players were filing out. “I can turn that frown upside down, sugar.”

Eva had to smile at that. “I bet. But we need to find our friend, the one who brought us supper – we could trust him to run the purse out to the ship, don’t you think, honey?” Metis pouted. “I really should have thought this through before agreeing to a hard currency tournament.”

Her husband rolled his eyes. “Yes, dear. Then we can get to bed, right?” 

Metis pursed her lips. “If room service stopped by to clean up our little mess.” 

“And if they haven’t, there are other places –” The expression on his face was wolfish as he guided her away from table with a hand to the small of her back. 

Theron and Eva scanned the bars for the familiar face. Eva tugged on Theron’s jacket as she sighted Trant, clearing one of the tables in a corner. 

“Hey, garçon!” Theron yelled at the Director of SIS. 

To Trant’s credit, there was no jolt of surprise or exasperation at Theron’s voice or reference. He rose up smoothly, a placid smile on his face, as if he had put up with classless high-class thrill seekers a hundred thousand times before and would do so at least another twenty or thirty thousand times before he was too stooped to sweep below the slot machines. “Mr. and Mrs. Vaner, how may I serve you?”

“My girl won third place,” Theron answered, pressing a sloppy kiss to her temple.

Eva, as Metis, tolerated the kiss but squirmed at the shoulders. “I could have done better. What, with the heat, the noises, the crowds, the attention.” She scoffed but pointedly made eye contact with Trant.

“No disrespect intended, Mrs. Vaner, but you are one of the prettier participants in the tournament. That said, I did keep an eye on anyone staring for a little too long -- so did Mr. Vaner.” Trant demurred as he spoke, his body language that of a humbled servant. 

Theron would have liked to have seen the old man at his prime undercover. He was still able to put on a show. 

Eva hung back slightly, as if hesitating about going through with the plan to pass off the purse and spring Trant from this nightmare. Theron had thought it was a generous offer, considering all that he had forced them to go through. 

Eva’s words danced through his head. “ _Just because it’s not real doesn’t mean it won’t be fun_.” 

Theron’s stomach twisted at the memory outside, when he had plunged headfirst somewhere between heaven and hell, doing his job to protect both of them but also –

But also -- “ _Yes_ ” and the little moan that followed. It should have left his mind already, a mission portion complete and filed away. Theron was only mortal; he knew it was going to linger, as was the excitement that had spiked through him and how he had shook – not from nervousness, but from restraint. 

He wondered how much Trant had seen.

None of this marched across Theron’s face as he watched Eva force herself to continue as Metis. “Listen, can you do me a favor? I have a ship at the port – I don’t like carrying cash.” She tilted her head, asking the silent question. 

Trant bowed. “Not a problem, ma’am. Valet service is one of the many perks of staying at one of our hotel-casinos.” 

Eva moved quickly and caught both men slightly off-guard. As Trant rose from his bow, Eva pressed the prize container into his hand and whispered something. Whatever she had said, it caused Trant to rear back slightly, the cover of the servant dropped. 

Theron automatically looked at Eva’s face. He’d missed most of it, but her words had been accompanied by the nasty, cold, look of the Voidhound, the flat eyes fading as she drew away from Trant.

Yes, one could forget what and who Eva was, when she wasn't on her own official, unofficial business.

“Now don’t run off with it. I know the Hutts pride themselves on customer service.” The Metis persona had snapped back into place already, nasal and obnoxious.

“You little harpy,” Antony drawled, unamused by his wife’s antics but unwilling to defend a servant against her. “Anyway, just leave it in a station locker. We’ll get it later.” He flipped Trant a credit chip for the locker deposit that wouldn’t be used. “Send us the data later tonight – just don’t disturb us.” 

Trant nodded as the chip flipped end over end into his outstretched palm. To the untrained eye, he was appropriately deferential. To Theron, something else loomed beyond the front. He couldn’t place it, but observation suggested the words were just as pointed as the Voidhound’s glare.

Theron held onto that thought as Antony Vaner turned on his heel, hand around the hip of wife as they meandered back toward the elevators toward their room.

The pair were not immediately aware of the eyes on them.

**

The couple made their way to the solarium on the eastern side of the building. The Nautolan carefully maintained her distance. They were disgusting. Their hands were everywhere on each other. 

And they talked _so_ much. They never shut up. It was always “I love you, honey” or “You’re so pretty, sugar.” The woman made it even worse by unbuttoning the man’s shirt as she teasingly led him through the solarium toward an isolated bench. Brivi held her position in between a patch of ferns, tucking her spindly body out of sight.

Human women were weird – especially this one. Brivi could understand humans having hair on their heads. It was common among most sentient species. Many were civilized enough to shave other hair on their bodies. Nautolans were hairless and perfect.

This woman liked her man hairy and let him stay that way, the savage. Brivi gagged as the woman pawed at him and kissed her way up and down his body, before sitting down on the bench and looking up at him, pouting at him. 

Humans were disgusting. He took her invitation and pushed her shoulders down as he delivered a searing kiss. Her legs swung up onto the bench, and the man effortlessly laid on top of her. 

Brivi was seriously going to heave off the side of the building if she had to see what was under his pants too before she killed them. They had done this _a lot_. She wished her eyes were capable of that expression of disgust and frustration – the rolling thing humanoids did. She heard the woman giggle as the man said something lascivious. 

Brivi had had enough when his hand snaked between her thighs. Time to finish this. She silently fixed the silencer to her blaster. She’d have to get closer, but this would be no problem; the humans were absorbed with each other. 

The Nautolan crept silently through the plants in the solarium, approaching her two marks. She moved with the bend of the plants, letting the artificial breeze wash over her and direct her. Brivi was well-paid in her position of janitor for a reason. Before they’d left the planet, her employers had placed a hefty number of credits in escrow for her to claim, once she provided evidence of the kills. Holostills of the corpses to the right secure address would net a fine price in seconds.

The human woman sounded as if the man was doing his job properly. His mouth was working at the side of her breast, his hand still up her skirt. 

Brivi thought she could get them in one shot.

Ready

Aim

_Zap_

_**_

“Nice hands,” Eva heard herself say for the second time that night in a completely different context from the first occasion. 

Theron had noticed their tail within minutes of leaving the gaming floor. They abruptly changed course, getting off a few floors early and sending the elevator on its way upward. That didn’t thwart her. The solarium was isolated and at the far edge of the building. They could dispatch the assassin and hide the body as needed. Unfortunately, the only weapons that weren’t detected by the floor security were Eva’s. The hair clip wasn’t practical for a necessary one-shot kill, unless they were in close quarters. The original plan was to try to get just far enough ahead to turn a corner, duck into a room – something that gave her enough time to hike up her skirt and pull her blaster.

They never quite got that moment. The tail knew her angles and knew the building well. So they resorted to using Antony’s libido and Metis’ absolute shamelessness to get Theron’s hand to her thigh holster. Theron’s implants had done their job in jamming the security holos.

The rest was all Theron’s instinct; he’d turned and fired so quickly his implants hadn’t had time to auto-target. The hold-out blaster fell apart in Theron’s hand once the deed was done, dissolving into plastic dust. He let it trickle down to the solarium’s floor, slowly wriggling his fingers to remove any trace of it from him. 

Eva slumped back against the bench, arms still around Theron’s shoulders. She felt his head turn back toward her and then press his forehead to her chest, where his mouth had been just moments before. Theron breathed deeply, gathering himself. “You alright?” she squeezed his shoulders, her eyes on the corpse the whole time.

“Yeah,” he answered against her skin. “I’ll clean up. Don’t want you leaving evidence around.”

Then he rose to his feet, shirt still open. As Eva sat up, he carefully walked over to the body, his fast hand grabbing her silenced blaster off the ground with the loose tail of his shirt. He nudged the body over, confirming his kill. He scanned her ID, assumedly wiping it clean, then reholstered her blaster for her. Theron stood up and scanned the roof, searching for something.

Eva had been a good enough actress not to react to the scars that had appeared as she unbuttoned his shirt. Even as she tossed her hair and flirted with her hot “husband,” there was a growing sense of dread as she recognized vibro-knife slashes and one particular scar that was far too close to his heart for her own comfort. Theron was only a few years older than she was, but his body reflected far more vicious battles. For the Republic, she supposed. 

Theron’s hands hadn’t reached to stop her. Antony Vaner’s teasing, naughty grin had followed the path of her fingers. She had made him gasp when she pressed her lips to those scars, those patches of skin that were so damaged they didn’t react to the sun and could no longer grow hair. These pale stripes and blotches were a harsh contrast to the rest of his darker skin, covered by a moderate layer of hair. They stood out. They were unmissable. Any lover not in SIS would have asked about them. 

That made Eva wonder whether that was another reason attachment was difficult – too many questions, too many classified explanations.

She’d known another spy like that who couldn’t answer her questions. 

Eva’s ears picked up something down on the street level far below. She got up from the bench and adjusted her dress as she tried not to let her heels click against the decoratively arranged pavers. “Antony,” she called across he roof. In an instant, he was beside her. Silently, she pointed.

Coming up the street was the garbage collector. It wasn’t at the casino yet. Directly below the solarium, many stories down, was a large dumpster. The smuggler and the spy looked at each other and nodded.

The pair, on the count of three, heaved the dead Nautolan’s body over the side of the building, watching it land in a dumpster. Within 90 second, the garbage freighter picked it up. They watched as it continued its course up the street. 

There was a shared exhale as the freighter left their sight. Then, he turned to her. “I’m –”

“Don’t you dare say you are sorry,” Eva cut him off. “You keep forgetting I like you touching me.” She cast a look off over the edge of the solarium. “Would you have rather gotten shot than touch--?”

“I’m _troubled_ by how much –”

“Oh, stars forbid you enjoy something that happens to be in the line of your duty to the Republic.” Roughly she tugged on his shirt to pull him closer and then she began to rebutton it for him. “Do you get guilty feelings about killing Imps too? I know you enjoy that.”

Theron’s hands closed over hers tightly, making her stop. He glared down at her. “I’m pleased by a mission completed successfully with collateral damage to the Empire if possible. If there was an innate pleasure in killing people, I’d be a sociopath.” 

Eva didn’t cower as her gaze fixed on a button immediately at eye level. “So innate pleasure when play-acting with someone –”

“—is selfish when I’m on mission.” He applied pressure to her hands, making her stare up at him. “If it was anyone else, I’d let the information slide in and out of my mind. Instead, I’m filing it away, _for later_.” His face contorted, disgusted.

“But you’re learning what I like, not just biting or groping wherever you feel like it. Would other agents have the same care you do?” she whispered impudently up at him. Some of his self-criticism fell away, replaced by disappointment in his institution. “It’s not that selfish.” 

His eyes flared a different shade of gold for a moment. “It’s still not selfless either.”

Eva pointedly flexed her hands under his grasp, and he released her, at last. She continued her work at buttoning up his shirt. “Knowledge-- intel -- doesn’t mean anything by itself. It’s neutral.”

“It’s what you do with it.” Theron brushed Eva’s hand aside as she reached to button the last button at the top of his shirt. He was fine with it open. “So did I use it well?”

That caught her off-guard; the mood immediately flipped with him. Now the frown was gone, replaced by teasing lips and arching brows. Eva stalled for a second before answering. “Yeah. Really well.” A flood of sensational memories flooded her from over the course of the night. She wore an absolutely idiotic and awkward smile. “Keep up the good work?”

Theron seized upon the words and laughed, briefly and quietly, and his internal storm over his conduct dissolved. Shadows still lingered as he regarded her. Eva couldn’t help but notice that traces of something more beastly, something less civilized also darted in and out of his eyes as they began to head back toward the turbolifts. 

When Theron and Eva drew within a few meters of the doors, they heard a noise on the other side. Theron pitched his ears and listened carefully. Swiftly he pulled her to one side of the doors, pressing her back against the wall just beyond the swing of the door. He stood next to her, back also against the building. 

The pair watched as a party filtered through the door and music began to fill the solarium. “Somebody knew the garbage pickup schedule,” Theron muttered. Eva nodded. It was fully expected that a body or two would end up in the freighter and never be found.

“You can send a signal to T3 from here,” she began, but Theron’s eyes were already unfocused, his implants at work. 

“Already on it. Going to see if he can relay a message to Trant. Also asking him to check all departures going out of the space port. Anything last minute, anything Hutt related going out.” His eyelashes fluttered as he pulled out of Holonet. “Let’s blend in. Give it a few minutes. Then we’ll get out of here.”

“How about a song or two?” She raised her chin toward the solarium’s center court, which was now a dance floor. The best cover was to go grey – blend in. 

His only reply was to take her hand and lead her out to the dance floor. Then the holorecording started. Eva gave a silent huff at the song. It would be that one. “You know this?” she asked as he turned to face her.

Theron shook his head. “Not good with music. But I can dance.” He squared up neatly, in ready position.

Theron must have learned it as part of some sort of op. Unexpectedly, Eva envied the faceless women who taught him and then the first woman he used this ploy on successfully. She had him now though. She shot a thought of thanks out into the galaxy to Lenn, wherever he was.

Eva extended her left hand to reach for his shoulder. In the same moment, he changed his grip on her other hand, pulling it to his chest, drawing her near to him. Eva gave him a smile, and he relaxed just a bit as he placed his free hand on at the bottom of her shoulder blade. 

And then he took the lead. 

He was confident and strong, not the least mechanical. Her feet had a few missteps as she tried to recall, but he was patient and careful. Soon enough, they moved as if they had done this so many times before.

“Who taught you?” he asked quietly as they moved slowly in a circle in their space on the floor.

“Friend on Alderaan,” she replied, watching his expression. “I did a favor for the family, we pretended I was a lady for the evening. I was taught table etiquette and proper dancing.”

Theron carefully spun her out, eyes on her. As she curled back in toward him, he asked, “Any improper dancing?”

“Antony, are you jealous?” Eva purred into his ear.

He growled right back, “Depends on the answer, Metis.”

She felt her heart beat twice, a little quick. He was jealous. “No. He didn’t want me contaminating his dynasty.”

Antony Vaner’s utterly lecherous grin gave her the hint that trouble was coming. “What an awful thing to say to the future mother of my four children.”

“I talked you down from six,” she replied, _voce sotto._

“I should have stood my ground.” 

They exchanged knowing smiles as they continued to dance until the song reached its penultimate verse.

Antony’s cockiness oozed out of him, but Eva could see something in Theron’s eyes. He was there in front of her yet long gone. “Hey.”

His attention went to her immediately.

“You alright? You look sad.”

Whatever he was feeling in that moment was instantly covered up by a smile trimmed with satisfaction. “Just tired. You ready to go?” It had been a nice night, after all.

“Suppose we should get to work on our six babies.”

Theron let out something that sounded suspiciously like a snort. “So you cede the argument.”

“Yes, stud.” 

The pair laughed, helplessly, at the situation.


	7. A Mutually-Agreed, Amicable Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shockingly (but hopefully delightfully) fluffy conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was wondering, yes, this is the case Marcus Trant refers to the stand-alone "Father and Son."

“More room service?” Theron asked as they walked back to their suite. 

“I’m taking Trant for all he’s worth, that bastard,” Eva replied gaily. “Also, ordering pay-per-view and not watching it.”

Theron gave her hand a squeeze. “Nothing too raunchy, or else he’ll think it’s me having a lonely night after you’ve escaped.”

“I was thinking some of the classics, just to confuse him.” 

Theron tilted his head upward for a moment, thinking. “Better idea: we could watch the classics, but order every holo, just to run up the bill.”

Eva’s mischief kicked up a notch. “Breakfast in bed for everyone at the casino sounds wonderful too.”

“Spread the joy.” Theron couldn’t help but think what a bad influence she was on him. He was a bad influence on other agents for his refusal to play well with others, most of the time, but Eva – Eva could do teamwork and drag them all down to her level in the best way possible.

Theron paused before the suite door, and Eva slowed her motion as she noticed his caution. Scans for bombs, for bugs, for Gods knew what else. She stepped back in the hallway to look up and down, listening for footfalls. 

Theron unlocked their suite door. 

They stepped inside, closing the door behind them, locking only one set of locks to allow Theron to do another scan before entering further; it was possible they’d have to make a quick escape. 

Housekeeping had been in. Unsure if they were just housekeeping or “housekeeping.” 

Theron let his vision fade away as the arrays and the sensors of his implants took over. Scans for infrared devices, heat signatures, and even a comparison of internal holostills he had taken of the room before departing paraded before his eyes. “Get it.” he murmured to her. “Bathroom is clear.” 

Theron heard Eva slip through the door and heard the porcelain of the water tank’s lid clink against the tile as she retrieved the blaster from its temporary hiding spot. As the snaps of organic latex substitute reached his ears, he regarded the bed.

The maids had cleaned up the mess they’d made earlier. Theron had to make sure they didn’t leave anything behind. As heard Eva approach, he didn’t turn around. “A blade.” He blindly reached back with an open hand, waiting. 

He heard Eva place the blaster on nearby table. The fabric of her skirt shifted up her thighs, and he heard a blade pulled from the garter holster he’d briefly seen on the dresser earlier that night. More recently, he’d felt it twin on her other leg. “The headpiece takes practice. Unless you want to ascribe a blood kink to our counterparts.”

“No, thanks.” Theron finally felt the knife’s handle in his palm, and he clicked off his implants as he plunged the knife into the side seam of the mattress. 

Several tense moments ensued as Theron slit the mattress up the side, severing each neat stitch, pop pop pop all the way up toward the head of the bed. Carefully, he plunged a hand in to check for the packaging he’d gotten to know busting smuggling and piracy rings on Coruscant.

Sometimes Theron needed a break from disrupting human trafficking rings.

He continued his methodical search for planted drugs. That would happen to them – make it through the night only to get shot up during an early morning drug raid, security tipped off by concerned cleaning staff. “Clean.” He flipped the implants back on, just for a moment, to check the vents around the bed. “No recording devices.”

“We’re safe?”

“Yes.”

They exhaled as one. Theron held the hilt of her blade back out to her. Eva took it, and rather than replace it in her holster, he heard her move behind him to slip the knife into a boot, one of the ones she planned to wear tomorrow.

Theron moved toward his own bag; he had to stitch up that mattress or the morning cleaning shift _would_ catch them. Much like condoms, Theron often used sewing kits for purposes not intended by the manufacturer – like sewing himself up. Finishing bombs. Mending a parachute. And so on.

For once, the sewing kit was being used for purpose, unlike the condoms. 

A laugh went up behind him as he pulled out the sewing kit. “What, you thought a spy didn’t have to patch things in the field?” he rhetorically asked as he turned around.

And then Theron had to chuckle himself. “What, you thought a smuggler had endless supplies of clothes?” Eva jauntily shook her own sewing kit at him. “Besides, covering tracks is both our jobs. Just leave enough glitter and hair gel so people don’t get suspicious.” 

The two of them silently sewed the mattress seam back together. Their stitches were not as tiny and close as a machine would have them, but it certainly would hold up under a few guests before any manager noticed something amiss. They met in the middle, neatly crossing stitches twice before finishing the seam. 

With that done, they sat on the floor, backs to the bed, hip to hip. Both of them seemed to be looking straight ahead at the wall and their shoes. Her black patent heels had a few scuffs on them – nothing too serious. His boots had adapted to the role, as usual. Midnight had already struck, and the illusion was fading. They’d be back to themselves entirely tomorrow. No more Antony or Metis. No more spy games for her. No more high living for him. She’d go back to the stars. He’d go back to the shadows.

Eva’s voice broke through. “You still up for that holo?”

Theron nodded, not daring to look at her. “You still up for room service?”

Peripherally, he could tell she had nodded, and then he felt her lean her head on his shoulder. “Ice cream. They got that posh brand – never buy it, but it’s ridiculously good. We deserve it.”

“I know, long night.” He only hesitated a moment before he gently leaned his head on hers. Theron felt his heart take a small plunge before relief flooded him. They were safe for now. He could do this. They’d made it. As she had said after those harrowing, self-divided moments, they were still here. 

Eva moved first to get up and head toward the fresher to remove the layers of makeup and sweat from the evening. Theron let himself drift for a moment on the last waft of her perfume before he hauled himself up to order room service.

As he did so, he sent a signal out to T3.

“Out late = good time?”

Theron blinked. “Yeah,” he silently typed and sent the message in his mind. “She tinker with your programming?”

“Augmented = blend in with Smuggler. Too stiff = suspicion. SIS = stiff droids.”

Theron internally groaned. T3 already _had_ a personality before Eva got her mitts on him. “Status?” 

“Space port = shutdown until 0900. Exception = private ship = no filed manifesto. Marking = Hutt, occupants =/= Hutt.”

Theron ran the day’s events through his head. “T3, did departure occur shortly before the tournament started?” 

“Affirmative. Ship occupants = Revanites; probability >75%. Number unknown. Evidence of Revanite presence = communications intercepted after departure. Orders = watch married couple. T3 knows married couple = Theron Shan and Smuggler. Credit transaction: if proof of death = positive = payout.” 

“You couldn’t have warned us?”

“Theron Shan = good spy. T3 = wrong?”

Theron sighed. “Any further reports on Revanite operatives here at the casino?”

“Negative. Hutt employees =/= Revanites. Hutts from Katalla = extended vacation. Revanites = hired recently for purpose. Vacation = over = displeased Hutts.”

Theron let himself smirk. “I’m always happy when I inconvenience a Hutt. Any indication of how involved the Hutts were with the Revanites? They’re using them as stand-in managers while they tour the galaxy on their barges, but any indication of the origin of that arrangement?”

“Negative.” 

Theron made a face. “Keep looking for that connection, T3. I don’t think these cultists just answered a want ad and the Hutts magically got a 10 for the price of 1 deal.” Grudgingly, Theron asked a follow-up question. “Trant make it out?”

“Affirmative. Smuggler = ill?”

Theron blinked. “What?”

“Third place = something wrong?”

Theron let a smile cross his face, slightly guilty. “Part of the cover.”

“You = owe her.”

“Tell me about it.” 

“T3 = see Theron Shan?”

Theron stopped for a moment. “Don’t know. Don’t want to endanger her or you. No contact.”

“Too late.”

“Yeah, tell me about that, too. Ship secure?”

“Affirmative.”

“Keep monitoring everything. She’ll be back in the morning.”

“Affirmative.”

Theron ended the transmission, just as he heard the water turn off. He heard her call out to him, “I get cold when eating ice cream – grab the covers off the bed for me.”

“Won’t hurt to destroy some more bedding anyway.”

She laughed at that.

Theron finished getting the Holoviewer set up before pulling the white duvet off the hotel bed. He dragged it toward the couch as Eva emerged from the fresher, wearing pajamas – purple with white stitching. Her face was fresh and unadorned– the way he normally saw her. She plonked herself down on the couch. Playfully, Theron dumped the king-size duvet on her head, leading to an agitated squawk. As her dark eyes reappeared, he could tell she was highly amused.

As she fought to dig herself out from under the weight and rearrange it to her liking, Theron took the opportunity to disappear into the fresher himself for a quick sonic; he’d been able to escape the casino’s heat more easily than she had. 

Scenes from the night darted through his mind as the sweat and cologne were skimmed off his body – scenes that were over. Now the two of them were in the final stages of the mission – stay the night, wake up in the morning, and leisurely make their way to the space port. 

He heard the door chime to signal the arrival of room service. Theron held back the impulse to order her to check the door, have the blaster ready, only take the food, and don’t let anyone in. Eva wasn’t a fool, and this wasn’t her first round of risky business at a casino. He heard her voice, deliberating lilting and giggly, asking the droid to leave the food by the door – “we aren’t decent, ha!”

No, they were more than decent.

He heard her patiently wait forty seconds for the droid to turn the corner down the hall before she let the doors swish open, hastily snatched at the cart, hauled it in, and quickly shut the door behind her. Theron heard Eva click all of the security measures back into place, including the old-fashioned manual deadbolt.

Theron pulled on a clean change of briefs and undershirt, along with the trousers he’d worn for the night. As he exited the fresher, Eva brandished two pints of ridiculously expensive gourmet ice cream and two spoons from her perch on the couch. The duvet had been fully transformed into a nest for her cold post-ice cream self. “What do you want to watch?” 

“I don’t have any preferences.” Theron hopped the back of the couch effortlessly and took the hand-off of his pint and spoon. 

Eva sat and thought for a moment as Theron started to flip through the listings “…you must have missed out on holos and music when you were a Jedi kid.”

“And comic books. But I caught up on that thanks to one of my classmates at the military academy,” Theron replied. “More of a reader anyway.”

Eva popped the lid off her pint. “You should come over to the _Thief_ and just watch films. Not Guss’s collection obviously, but the respectable ones.”

Theron guffawed at that. “I usually end up reading a datapad in my pocket anyway when the film drags.”

Eva thoughtfully popped a spoonful of her ice cream into her mouth. “You deploy that trick elsewhere?” And then she pinned him with a Voidhound-caliber glare, but without any of the coldness.

Stars, that was even more dangerous, Theron discovered. 

Theron hastily became very invested in his ice cream. “You want a bite of this?” He offered a spoonful to her, which she obligingly sampled. She offered a spoon in return, and he took a bite for himself. 

They paused for a moment, gazing at one another. 

Then they silently swapped pints and Eva hit ‘play’ on the first holo rental she recognized.

**

After midway through the second holo, Theron realized he was starting to doze, his head tilted against the back of the sofa. He turned to look at Eva sleepily. She was no more awake than he was. He gave her a nudge with his hip. “Hey, you should go to bed.” 

Eva weakly waved him off, burrowing into her self-made duvet nest. “No. Comfortable.” 

Theron felt a small pull in his heart. He didn’t want to wake her entirely. 

Theron gave her a smile. “Seriously, I should take you to bed,” he murmured. Theron got to his feet and slipped his arms under her shoulders and knees, making a motion toward gathering her up, duvet and all. He could easily carry her over to—One of her eyes popped open, giving him a surprised look. Theron briefly replayed his words in his head, then hastily, he added, “Not like that.” 

Eva gave a great dramatic sigh, and she shut her eye again. “I will dwell in perpetual hope. And you can put me down.” Theron gently set her back down on the sofa, as requested, sitting back down himself to ensure he wouldn’t drop her or lose his balance, as tired as he was.

“Then I need to go.” Theron began to rise again to head to bed, but Eva reached over to grab his left wrist. 

“You don’t have to. You can stay.” She blinked in the dim light still shining from the holo screen. “It’s past 3 am. We’re going to need to get out of here early. Skip the unnecessary movement and just crash here. Believe it or not, I can behave myself.”

Well. This was different. Theron was honestly not sure how to proceed. 

He apparently hesitated too long, as Eva cracked her eyes open and then sat up slightly to study him closely. “You haven’t done this before,” she said. “You haven’t--–"

“I’ve slept over at a girl’s place before!” Theron protested. “Several. Multiple times.”

“Yeah, but that’s typically a consequence of sex. Have you ever just ended a date and had a sleepover, because you’re both tired?” she asked directly.

After some hesitation, he shook his head, silent. Sex was never a problem. Intimacy was. 

Unbothered by all of this, Eva yawned, then grabbed his hand. “Come on. It’s too late to argue.” She started to rearrange the covers, draping at least a third of them over Theron’s lap. Theron still sat there, awkwardly. “What?” she asked. “Just do what you do at your place.”

“I don’t have sleepwear like you do--”

“Most don’t. I’m a prude,” was her quip. 

Theron let out a ‘heh’. “That’s not what comes to my mind when I think of you.”

“What does?” she asked slyly, eyes shining. 

Instead of answering her, Theron reached over to switch off the holo screen, plunging them into darkness. He stood up abruptly to unbuckle his belt. He quickly stepped out of his trousers, folding them over the arm of the sofa, the belt clanking against itself once. He only hesitated a moment before taking off his shirt as well. _It’s dark. She won’t ask about the scars. She didn’t before._

“I feel like I’m skipping a few steps.” Once he was down to his briefs, he slid under the duvet next to her, hands above the covers. 

“I feel like you’re avoiding my question.” She was incorrigible. 

In the darkness, Theron propped his legs up on the cocktail table, stretching as he attempted to settle himself. “If that didn’t distract you enough, I’ll have to answer.” His tone conveyed to her that he was at his limit for the night – no more. “You’re a bon vivant. Someone who lives well. All the time. In every way. Right down to the pajamas she likes. Regardless of what anyone thinks.” 

Eva shifted her position on the sofa, and he felt the fabric of her pajamas meet his waist in the dark. “You lived pretty well tonight, too.”

Theron felt a small, weak smile cross his face. “It was, as you said, a gaudy night. Not typical.”

“We’re going to have to raise the bar then, Theron. You should treat yourself better – have a bit more fun.” A beat. “You can touch me, if you want, to start.”

“I thought you said you could behave herself,” he chided her.

She sounded all too smug. “No, I’m not touching you. I’m trusting you to behave yourself. That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it.” 

“That’s been your line all night, hasn’t it.” He ran his hand over his mouth, feeling out the still-unfamiliar facial hair there. “Then again, it is the last few hours of our marriage.” 

Eva’s breath caught in the dark, and then Theron heard her gentle laugh. “So it is.”

Theron extended his left arm out toward the back of the couch, letting her draw close to him. Theron felt her pajamas press up and down his left side as his left arm came to rest around her. Her head leaned on his upper chest, her right ear to his heart. There was a giggle, and she moved her face slightly. “What?”

“Chest hair tickled. I like that. A lot.” 

“Oh. Uh...good to know.” It was a random thing to like about his body, but he liked that she liked it. He felt the fingertips of her left hand run over his chest until he gently clasped them in his free right hand. That wasn’t so random, and it felt too good to him. 

Theron knew he was exhausted when couldn’t muster anxiety over any of this. 

As Eva settled in, her breathing slowed down. He felt her relax into him, their fingers intertwined. Theron felt himself sink down into something more distant from wakefulness. He managed to say, “I’ll be honest – it’s been awhile since I’ve held someone like this.” Theron could feel her warmth through her pajamas, her pulse slightly quicker than his own; women were always like that.

Eva’s drowsy voice mumbled, “Well, that answers any questions I had about Lana. And Jakarro.” He could still hear that tiny little bite and the obvious teasing in there, even as she was drifting. 

That made him chuckle. “I think I might burst into flames on contact with a Sith. And D4 would complain the whole time and ruin the moment.” Theron used his arm to draw her just a bit closer to her, to feel her. She was more than a willing participant in his scheme, her soft body snuggling up to his harder, leaner one. 

He was so compromised. He couldn’t care.

“So Bowie still has a chance?” she asked.

“With me? No. Lana? Might as well give it a shot. She might loosen up with a half-decent hug.” Theron wanted to tell Eva that this was more than decent, but sleep took him before he could do so. 

**

Theron awoke first. He normally did, whenever he slept with anyone in the same room or in the same bed. Or, in this new situation, on the same sofa. Theron remained as still as possible, trying not to change his breathing. He didn’t want to disturb her. 

Theron made the decision that the prior night had been…intimate. They never went to bed, but doing things like disposing of bodies tended to bind people together in Theron’s business.

He probably shouldn’t say that out loud to her.

Wait.

Then again, maybe he should – she’d think it was witty. Theron felt his lips stretch into an early morning smile. Well, early comparative to their late night. A quick consult of his implants revealed under 5 hours of sleep. It was approaching 0800.

Theron silently debriefed himself. They had trusted each other to get through it, to uphold illusions and keep the other safe. They trusted each other not to get confused. The dance, literally and figuratively, had gone all throughout the night. And now they were on the other side.

All the affection they’d share as part of their guise spilled through his mind. Sexually, it thrilled him. Emotionally, it exhausted him. It was not real, and he knew they both wanted it to be real. Theron had cheered Eva on when she ran the tables. They stole kisses and touches of affection in between rounds. 

When they were tailed at the tournament itself, Theron had indulged himself with the plunging neckline. He thought he’d gone too far until she’d asked him to remember that for later.

Then he’d used her hold-out pistol, her last defense meant for herself. Accessing it was part of that. She hadn’t let him apologize for grazing the apex of her thighs as he angled his wrist to grasp the blaster grip or for the slide of the blaster up and then down as he readied to fire. 

It was not real. They weren’t romantically involved. They weren’t – couldn’t be – together. 

_But they both wanted it to be real_. 

Eva was waking up. She squirmed even closer to his body. Theron’s breath hitched as she rubbed her face on his chest, left hand sliding across his abdomen. “Morning.” Her voice was still sleepy, not fully awake. 

Theron fought dueling urges either to push her off or to snuggle down further with her. He maintained a neutral position. “Hi.”

“You feel great.” Eva took the second option out of his hands and curled herself into him, hands and face caressing him. 

“And why’s that?”

“You’re a man,” she proclaimed. “Men are great.” Eva settled in as she spoke. “Men are strong. Men smell great -- the soap, the sweat, the cologne – everything.” She tilted her head to look at him. “The way men move – especially the walk. Ugh.” She closed her eyes. “And then there’s the voice. Phwoar.”

Theron peered down at her, a slight grin on his face. “As much as I agree with you that men are great,” Theron let the words hang out longer than usual ( _she needs to know someday soon_ ), “I could say the same thing about women. Women are strong, they smell great, the way they move is amazing, their voices are something else. What’s your argument to that?” 

Eva sighed at him with over-exaggerated exasperation. “It’s because men are a different type of strong, different smell, a different walk, and a different sound compared to _me_. They _work_ differently. And I like ‘em, because their bodies are heavier, firmer and _hairier_.” He didn’t expect that last adjective, and it soon became apparent she’d anticipated that. She swiftly used it to her advantage. No longer drowsy, a playful hand quickly reached over and yanked the covers up to herself, exposing Theron’s unsuspecting legs.

As he let out a startled laugh, Theron snatched at the cover’s edge and tried to pull it back before anything else was exposed. As he tugged back, she seized the opportunity to hold tight to her end of the war with one hand and swiftly reached out with the other to tickle him, delicate fingertips trailing along his skin. 

Theron experienced a terrifying moment when he thought he was going to shove her – his training told him to wall up and protect his vulnerable gut. 

Then he remembered it was _her._ And he _liked_ her. A lot. In a split second, he untensed and let a pleasurable shudder roll through him. Still holding one edge of the duvet with one hand, he used the other to grab at her wrist, pulling her toward him to distract her. “As good as that feels to _me,_ not everyone likes that aesthetic.”

“And they’re wrong.” Eva smirked up at him. 

“So what’s the point of this argument before we’ve had caf?” He gently pushed her back into a sitting position, her purple pajamas contrasting with the white duvet nest. She let him win a small share of the covers as well.

“Bold of you to assume there was an argument. I proclaimed my appreciation for men,” she informed him, eyes bright yet softening as she continued to look at him as if waiting…

Theron realized she had told him what she liked about _his_ body.

Oh. 

He released her hand. He had missed her original point in starting the conversation. Gods, he was bad at this. “And…I decided to argue the virtues of women…” She crossed her arms, amused. “And not yours in particular, even after you … for me….” She gave him a nod as the morning light came in through the window, the first flashes of light finding their way through the vertical blinds and onto both of their bodies. 

Yeah, that had not been an over-exaggerated exasperated sigh – it was rightfully exasperated. “Told you I was bad at this sort of thing.” He ran a hand through messy hair, while the other tugged up the covers that had pooled in his lap. “The staged cockiness of an agent makes me better at that when I’m on the job. When I’m just me, I have little to no game.” 

Eva curled into her share of the covers a little, regarding him in the thin slivers of light that snuck through blinds on the far side of the room. “I didn’t like Antony. I like _you_.”

The relief that burst inside him was unexpected but all too welcome. A genuine smile crossed his lips. “Thanks. Metis Vaner has nothing on you.” At the sight of an expression that mirrored his own, Theron had to fight down the urge to take her hand again.

The moment was sweet, and if he wasn’t already thinking three hours ahead, he’d stop this from slipping away. “But the agent standards and rules and priorities supersede my own – and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take comfort in them. With my issues.”

Eva’s eyes glinted in the shard of light that passed her face. “You’d tell me if you were jerking my chain, right?”

There the moment went, sliding through his fingers – how many times did he do this to himself? “Yes. No, I’m not – it’s just that things need to be fixed before we can really start.” He felt his teeth bite into his lower lip, slightly.

“You know, you could just hop on my ship at the space port, I set a course to some debris field in deep Republic space – something protected and desolate – and you take some R&R from your current crusade.” Suddenly, Eva was all temptation and danger, and she was sitting within his reach.

No, not danger. Something else. 

Theron swallowed and made sure his voice was steady before speaking. “No. I have to see this through. I have to be cleared and reinstated, and the Revanites must be stopped before I’m in any mood for R&R. And it’s not like I’d get any if I was with you.” 

The last sentence spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it, and the shock that must have run across his face was met by her own smug triumph. No, she wasn’t offended at all, nor did she take pleasure in his --

Theron found that he wasn’t embarrassed at all by it. He was just surprised at his own openness with her. It was … easy. 

Now that revelation was equal parts heart-warming and disturbing.

Gods, he was broken. People weren’t supposed to feel like _that_ when they --

Quickly, before his mind careened off like it did last night, before he made her feel guilty for something that was damaged long before she showed up. Say something.

Theron said quietly and evenly, “I won’t take that back, since you seem pleased by that admission. But it doesn’t change the fact that we aren’t starting anything until I’m truly free of this.” 

The smuggler was still as she studied the man in front of her, not unkindly. “He said, to the life-long fugitive.” They exchanged silent, small, wry grins. She was too clever not to see he used his career and devotion to the Republic as a shield. As much as it was a compulsion, it was also a convenient, consistent excuse.

Just as Theron let them both escape on the subject of her trust issues, Eva did the same for him. With a final flirtatious grin, Eva smoothly vaulted herself over the back of the sofa, somehow easily freed from the knot she’d made around herself, and made her way toward the room service terminal. “Breakfast to go then?” 

**

Antony Vaner made one final request of the front desk, shortly after Metis ordered breakfast to be waiting for them to grab-and-go: a swoop rental for him to drive out to the spaceport. The concierge told him it’d be waiting in the underground garage; he should just park in the VIP lot at the spaceport, and someone would be around to collect it. 

And that was the last time anyone heard of Antony and Metis Vaner for ten years.

Eva made her way down to the lobby to grab the food discreetly, then lurked near the bike, privately messaging Theron that they were clear to go, in smuggler cant.

She hadn’t used his frequency in months. She knew it would go unanswered, but just messaging him felt good. Seeing him had been really good. Everything else --- really, _really_ good. 

Eva shook her head at herself. She wouldn’t tolerate these “will we or won’t we” games normally. For some ungodly reason she was letting him give her the run around with his “order of one” nonsense, with no guarantee she’d ever actually get him into bed with her. It wasn’t as if either of them were virgins or were keeping it for someone special. 

And yet, beneath her crabbiness and sexual frustration, there was a part of her that still found this association rewarding. It wasn’t like other business connections she had that were profitable and personally close. The subject never came up with Rogun, minus one night when they made a lewd joke about “enemies to lovers” Holonet erotica just to get Corso to stop hovering. 

It was sort of like the thing she had for Cantarus, but that was 95% fuelled by rebound impulse. That, and she wanted the opposite of what Darmas had been revealed as. Corellia was part of atoning for everything she did, knowingly or –

Cantarus was so ridiculously goody-two-boots. He saw the rebound on her like a slave brand and was gracious enough to let her make an idiot of herself to get it out of her system and then never mentioned it again. He didn’t lay a hand on her. Theron wasn’t Cantarus, minus his overall alignment and quality of being a decent guy. Apparently, that now counted for something with her –

Eva drew herself out of her head as she saw the lift arrive, presumably with Theron on it. “Better hope you get _something_ with him. Otherwise, what’s next, a karking Jedi?”

The door swished open, and there appeared Theron Shan: clean-shaven, with his hands fixing his hair into that familiar style. It was a bit more dramatic and pronounced than it normally was, but he was in dire need of a haircut. The red jacket was also on, tugged out of his duffle bag during the course of the elevator ride; the bag was still open. He hadn’t wanted to give anything away before he was clear of the floor cameras. A brush of his hand to his temples to disable the cameras down here, and she knew she could emerge from the shadows she skulked in. 

Theron’s head swivelled in her direction, and he relaxed as he realized it was her. “Thanks for the eyes. You need a lift?” He dragged the bag out of the lift and crouched to zip it.

Eva felt silly because she was happy he asked. She was too old and battered for this. “Yeah, if you can balance with the baggage.”

Theron smirked at her. “Should be easier than the last time.” He started to strap down his duffle bag to the swoop bike. 

Eva waited with her bag, then swung it toward him when he gestured for it. She kept her smaller personal bag slung across her shoulders. “You blowing cover by looking like that?”

Theron scoffed as he strapped her bag to the swoop bike. “Haven’t looked like this since I left Manaan. After being Antony, I wanted to be myself.” He looked up at her, almost challenging her, daring her. “You like that, right?”

She did not falter “Absolutely.” 

Theron flashed a grin up at her as he rose to his feet and straddled the bike. “Now get on. The right way, this time.” 

Eva hopped on the bike behind him. “No helmets?” She gripped his waist through his jacket. 

“Not that far. And I’m not an awful driver, as you should know.” Theron started the bike and let it idle for a few seconds. She saw his hands go up to his implants again. “Got a street map of this place. Has all the traffic lights and surveillance holos on there – we’re avoiding that.”

Eva shrugged. “I’m just along for the ride.” Using her wrist comm, Eva sent a signal to T3 and C2 to start the ship. “I’m setting for a hot launch. Don’t want to tempt fate.”

“Uh huh.” Theron finished whatever he was doing with his cybernetics and he readied to kick off. Then he stopped for a moment, as if considering something. Without looking back, he grabbed Eva’s hands and pulled them (and her) forward to wrap around his middle. “Hold on tight – no helmet,” he offered as an explanation. 

Eva didn’t answer. She just pressed her check into the back of his jacket, smiling like the fool she knew she was. And she squeezed him tight as the swoop bike accelerated out of the garage.

**

“You catching the next freighter out of here?” she asked in his ear as they made the final approach to the port’s traffic circle. 

“Yeah. New name, new ID. Probably a new haircut. This is getting too long, even for me.” He easily took the exit for the VIP lot, and with a slight jerk of his head, she assumed he disabled the security holo cams there.

Theron and Eva didn’t speak as they unloaded the bike and silently made their way toward the _Thief_. With a shared look, they both decided to opt out of Port Authority Security Checks, with some swift slicing on Theron’s part. 

“Sure I can’t offer you a lift?” Eva heard herself ask him as they rushed through the back hallways of the port. 

She knew the answer was going to be no, but she couldn’t help but relish in the long pause that ensued before the “no” did emerge from his lips.

Eva didn’t press the subject.

By the time they reached the _Thief’s_ dock, the ship was hot and ready to go. The gangplank was lowered in anticipation of her arrival. 

This was it. 

Eva stared at her home, wishing for a fleeting second that it was just little further away. Well, no matter now. She had to go, or else she’d endanger him. Eva turned to Theron, who was also looking at _Virtue’s Thief_ with a mix of relief that she was home safe but also –

He spoke before she could read him completely. “Friends hug, right?” He looked down at her, uncertain.

Oh, his attachment issues and his professional boundaries. “This one does.” Without hesitation, Eva dropped her larger bag and threw her arms around him. Unlike other occasions and other steps, Theron was quick to return the gesture. His arms were strong around her, but so careful at the same time. He was undeniably warm as they pressed together tightly.

They really shouldn’t linger. 

He wasn’t exactly moving fast though. He probably wasn’t lying that he hadn’t had a hug in ages. Probably hadn’t had too many hugs at all as Jedi kid then being at a military academy either. 

This probably wasn’t the best thing to think of when she had to let go. 

Theron stepped back first, so the “letting go” decision was out of her hands. The expression on his face was unreadable. SIS training enabled him to obscure whatever he felt in that moment and to do his duty.

Eva didn’t understand obligations to governments or duties as much as she did obligations to people and to herself. That prompted her to reach up and stroke the temple where his implants sat: the one action Metis had been forbidden from using as a cover. 

Because, as Theron had said at the time, the gesture of true affection wasn’t for lies. 

Unlike the first times she did it, Theron wasn’t startled by it; his lips turned upward at the corners as her fingers delicately traced the spidery wiring that ran just below his skin’s surface. Silently, his large hand came up to touch the side of her face, thumb tracing along her cheekbone. They leaned into each other’s hands. 

“Go,” he said. 

“Fly fast,” she replied.

They broke apart with no further dawdling. Eva crouched to grab her bag and quickly hauled it up the gangplank into the ship. Her hand caught on something, and then she remembered.

She threw the bag ahead of her with an audible “thunk” as it hit the wall of the _Thief_ ’s entryway. She turned and yelled down to him. “Theron!”

He’d already started walking away, duffel bag slung over his shoulder and gripped at the front with a tight fist, but he immediately turned at the sound of her voice. “Hey.” She stood at the top of the gangplank, looking down at him. “You were a great husband, while the marriage lasted.”

Theron froze for a moment as the words registered, and then Eva saw a massive smile burst over his face. “I—um.” He heh-heh’ed nervously, his free hand going up to rub the back of his neck. “You, too. I mean….” He looked up at her and cleared his throat. “As a wife.”

“Thanks.” Eva gave him a closed-lip smile as she considered the prospect for a moment. Then she quickly flicked her wrist and sent a gold band tumbling toward Theron. “The Republic and the Empire haven’t gotten a slave collar around me yet. Not about to start now.”

Her aim was true, and he easily snatched the ring out of mid-air and continued to smile up at her as he backed away to let the _Thief_ prepare for departure. She gave him a wave as the gangplank went up.

He didn’t see her absentmindedly rub her left ring finger periodically for the next few days. The urge came over her at times, inexplicably coming and going, for a number of years. 

She didn’t see him put the ring into his left interior breast pocket of his red jacket, where it sat for a very, very long time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Overall, this fic was fun to write; count the tropes, subverted or reversed. The last chapter evolved into something more sweet than what I originally planned. For my headcanon, this further solidifies the relationship before heading into Rishi and Yavin; you don't just wipe out an island of cultists for someone you "sorta like," in my opinion. 
> 
> Metis and Antony Vaner -- I asked where the names came from: yes, tanxiaolian is correct in saying that Vaner is an anagram for "Revan." It's also the name of his son. Vaner Shan was Bastilla and Revan's son. There's a nod to Theron's ancestor. As for the first names, the mother of Athena in Greek mythology is Metis; Athene is Eva's mother. Eva's father's name was Hadrian. The successor or adopted son of Emperor Hadrian of Rome is Antoninus Pius, who earned his cognomen 'Pius' by being more merciful and arguably more moral than Hadrian. Given Antony Vaner's immoral traits, this is an ironic reference. 
> 
> In the next fic, yes, we are going to get into Eva's issues. To forewarn you, that will be addressed in a chapter titled "Dead Dove: Do Not Eat," in the upcoming Rishi fic (which I'll start posting next week or the week after). Heed any warnings I post on that chapter. 
> 
> As always, you can subscribe to me the author or the fan fic series so you don't miss the next installment. Thanks for reading.


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